


I'm Golden if You Let Me

by SlipOfAScribe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Bull's Chargers, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, M/M, Male Slash, Misgendering, Necromancy, Racism, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Talk of Suicide, Violence, but just at first, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-05-30 12:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15096878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlipOfAScribe/pseuds/SlipOfAScribe
Summary: Dorian runs away from a Halward Pavus Plot with Felix's help and ends up rescued and adopted by The Bull's Chargers. He slowly builds himself a place within their ranks while dealing with the emotional fallout of everything he's left behind and everything he could become at the side of a wonderfully awful Qunari.The Iron Bull struggles with his role in the Qun, spying through the cover of a mercenary group. When that group adopts a troublesome, handsome, and emotionally ruined Tevinter mage, Bull tries to keep himself from falling for the man. Will he stick with the Qun or forsake everything for a chance at love?





	1. Necromancy and Questions

Dorian was five when it had first happened. He was sat out in the backyard of the Pavus Estate watching a nest of colorful birds tweeting for their mother. One particularly adventurous, or perhaps impatient, chick crawled out onto the tree branch and fluttered its wings. It tottered and Dorian held his breath, willing the bird to keep upright. The tiny thing fell and had the misfortune of landing head first on a rock in the roots of the tree. Crying out, Dorian rushed forward and picked up the broken bird. He began to cry when suddenly something cold burbled up in his chest, a feeling like a too cold drink being swallowed down quickly, but in reverse.

A haze of purple washed over Dorian and settled around the bird. It twitched. Dorian’s heart hiccuped and the bird fluttered back to life.

“Oh, healing magic!” gasped Amelia, one of the slaves Halward and Aquinea owned.

Aquinea had just come looking for him, the sudden presence of her and two slaves shocking Dorian from his reverence and concentration. A flash of purple pulled back into Dorian and he heard his mother suck in a hissing breath.

“No,” she said as the bird fell dead once more. “Necromancy.” Aquinea looked down her hard nose, the one Dorian had gained from her, and crinkled her face. “Leave the dead thing alone, Dorian. Come wash yourself for lunch.” She turned away, expecting without a doubt that he would obey immediately.

Dorian hesitated only a moment, casting one last tear-filled glance at the broken baby bird before running after his mother.

 

Dorian was nine when it happened again. He was sitting in a library in the Circle at Carastes. In his time here, he found he did not fit in. Dorian was younger than the others and more talented, and they despised him for this. So he often found himself sheltered in the library, reading about magics and history and all the species of Thedas wondering at what the world held beyond these suffocating walls. That’s also where he’d met a friend, a mouse he’d named Scipio for one of the Archons whom Dorian had read about. 

The afternoon was late and the little mage was engrossed in one of his books, Scipio skittering back and forth by his feet, when a group of boys came in. They were immediately loud causing Dorian to tense and Scipio to halt and stare. They were lead by Gaius Vinius, the first born son of a family reaching toward the seat of Archon and looked very likely to achieve. He was a rude, vicious boy who enjoyed picking on the weak. Dorian hated him. 

Gaius spotted him and elbowed the boy next to him. “Look, it’s the Pavus baby. What’s wittle Pavus doin all on his wonesome?” 

The affected baby-talk irked Dorian but he remained quiet. He held up his book in response then tucked back into it. He hoped they would just go away. 

They didn’t. In fact, Gaius drew close enough that Scipio darted for the hole in the wall that he called his home. The boy spotted the mouse and smirked with a wicked glee. He pointed a finger at it and blasted the little gray mouse with a spell, one that smacked the creature against a wall and crushed the life from him. The magic was imperfect, collapsing a shelf with the castoff and spilling books on Dorian’s head.

Dorian cried out, more for Scipio than himself. He pushed himself out of the book pile and scrambled for the mouse, cradling the crooked body in his hands. Tears pricked at his eyes and Dorian fought to keep them at bay. It wouldn’t do to let them see him any weaker than he’d already shown. 

“Oh!” Gaius let out a fake gasp. “Was that your fweind, Pavus? Nasty little creature got what he deserved,” the boy laughed. The others laughed with him.

A familiar thrill of cold ran through Dorian’s body and he pushed, eyes locked on Scipio’s body. Purple ripples ran down Dorian’s arms and covered the mouse. Its tail twitched, then its little legs scrambled to help it stand upright. It cowered in Dorian’s hands, glowing with a faint purple haze.

The boys gasped genuinely this time and two took a step back. Not Gaius. He sneered, his nose and eyes crinkling in much the same way that Aquinea’s had. 

“That’s disgusting. You’re a necromancer?”

Gold flecked silver eyes flashed up to the boys and Dorian pulled his hands closer to his chest, not trusting what they would do to his revived friend. 

“Carastes has no place for your type of filth, Dorian!” The boys hadn’t been given staves yet, but the spark at the ends of Gaius’s fingers were unmistakable. He had set off a spell, glowing red-orange like a burst of fire, and it was headed right for Dorian.

Keeping one hand around Scipio, Dorian dived out of the way and flung his other hand out. A wave of blue light flashed from his palm and smacked into Gaius, sending the boy sprawling down the aisle of bookshelves. There was a  _ crack _ that had nothing to do with magic and Gaius cried out louder than Dorian had expected. When he sat up, he was cradling an arm that bent atan unnatural angle.

“You broke my arm!” The boy shrieked and the others ran to him. They helped him up and started away from Dorian with fear in their eyes. “I’ll have you expelled for this!” Gaius sneered and then the doors slammed shut behind their retreat.

Dorian sunk down to floor with the mess of books all around. He opened the hand that held Scipio and found the purple haze had receded, leaving just the twisted, broken body of his friend, dead once more. Now alone, Dorian allowed himself to cry for the loss. 

 

Each Circle Dorian studied in felt the same. He would last as long as he could before something spiraled out of control for him. Tevinter was a large place, and Dorian got to experience a lot of it due to his trouble in each Circle. Still, he was talented enough and his family was well-known enough that every Circle gave him a chance. If they could tame the Pavus boy, their prestige would be linked to his successes. 

At sixteen, Dorian found himself in Minrathus studying with the Order of the Argent. Even with the chances he was used to getting, Dorian was surprised Halward had managed to make this particular study work. It was also the time when Dorian’s sexuality became an issue. He’d confided in his father, learned from him that it was fine if he played around, but he was expected to marry and reproduce. That didn’t have to happen right away, but they would see him mated to the right woman once he was well established. 

He would have to pretend, then. He would have to hide this degradation much the same way he only practiced his necromancy in private. Just another thing to lie about; but that’s how Tevinter worked, didn’t it? The facades and back alley dealings were just as important as the perfection over magic casting. 

He lasted with the Argents for three months before the drinking he’d gotten into had turned his mind to a breakdown. Drunk, confused, and needing to feel the arms of a man who would just love him turned Dorian to the elven slums where a particular whore house resided. Lying about his age and slipping enough gold to help persuade them, Dorian found a handsome elf and asked him to fuck Dorian senseless. 

When it was over, he didn’t feel any better. If anything, he felt emptier than before. He stumbled through the front door wondering if he could use necromancy to bring back something that had died inside of himself. Unlikely. Dorian’s fingers gripped at the wall as he tripped down a step to the street. Everything was rolling around him and his thoughts sloshed through his mind in a sluggish onslaught that was still too quick for him to keep up with.

Suddenly, hands were at his shoulders steadying him. This was it; this was the end of Dorian, scion and fuckup of House Pavus. There would be no great stories of his triumphs, just some cautionary tale that ended in rape and murder in a back alley slum.

“Hey, hey, hey there son. Calm down,” roughed the voice of a man Dorian didn’t know. His hands stayed on Dorian’s shoulders and he pushed him against the wall of the brothel. “Take a breath for me. You do not look like you belong here.”

Dorian grabbed at the man’s forearms and found himself staring into the face of what had to be a Magister by his dress and his speech. He snorted and shook his head. “This is not exactly the place for a Magister, either. Come to sample the pretty elven goods, too?”

One of those hands went to Dorian’s face. “You attend the Order of the Argent, do you not?”

Not sure how else to respond, Dorian nodded dumbly before finding his words. “If you’re going to have the Templars collect me, I think I’ll wait inside and have another go before I’m expelled from this,” he glanced around the slums and scoffed, “ _ beautiful  _ city.”

The Magister did something unexpected. He laughed. He laughed and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Let’s take a ride together and get your mind back to its proper place, hmm?” He waved his arm toward an awaiting carriage.

Dorian hesitated. This could still end badly. The man had something over him now, a threat for good behavior, and Dorian wasn’t sure he could produce a proper spell in this state to save his life. Still, what choice did he have. The man wasn’t bad looking, after all. “Alright. That seems a fair enough deal.”

Letting himself be helped into the carriage, Dorian leaned against the back of the plush seat and breathed out a little puff of relief. The man followed after and shut the door; the carriage took off without a word of direction. Dorian couldn’t possibly hope to keep track of their directions while he was this inebriated, so instead he focused on the man sitting across from him. 

“So, who are you?”

The man lifted an eyebrow and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Gereon Alexius of Asariel. I am here on business with the Magisterium. And you are?”

Giving up his house name could get him in even more trouble, but it wouldn’t be hard for someone of Gereon’s caliber to figure it out eventually anyway. “Dorian of House Pavus.”

“Pavus?” Gereon’s eyebrow danced upward again and his lips chased the hints of a smile. “And does Halward Pavus know about your nightly proclivities?” 

Dorian stared back hard. “In a sense, yes. He was never very good at maintaining my behavior.”

A silence slipped between them as Gereon took his measure with a calculating look. There were decisions Dorian could see passing through Gereon’s mind, but he couldn’t guess at a single one of them. In the growing stretch of quiet, Dorian felt himself breaking. He’d learned silence for much of his life, but recently he’d fallen into the habit of using his voice to fight back.

“Deciding if you’d like to take advantage of my peculiarities?”

“No,” Gereon responded flatly as though the jab hadn’t been disrespectful. “I’m wondering at what we could do once we learn to harness that talent I’ve heard you carry. With your rebellious and strong-willed attitude, I’m sure you could be brought to great things given the proper teacher.”

That made the drink in Dorian’s head melt away. He wasn’t used to facing compliments beyond that of the physical. While the Circles he entered made mention of his budding talent, none had been so forthright in their idea of using that talent.

“And I suppose you would be the proper teacher?”

Gereon nodded. “Mostly because I won’t put up with your shit, boy. The others might not know how to deal with it, but I’ve patience the likes of which they could only hope to aspire to.”

Possibilities ran through Dorian’s mind now, flashes of true studies, of people recognizing the talents he possessed beyond the odd nature they felt he was attributed with. “You would take me on privately?”

“Yes. I suspect you would flourish in a private capacity.” 

And that was how Dorian had come to meet Felix, a best friend who encouraged Dorian’s use of necromancy rather than revile it. Felix was also the reason he’d been able to get away from it all.

 

Rilienus had been Dorian’s biggest mistake. It hurt much more than the things the purple haze could not bring back to life, more than the disdain in his father’s eyes as Dorian walked away. Rilienus hurt in a way that very nearly ended Dorian.

The man stared down at Dorian as he lay in his bed, wrapped in the silver sheets Rilienus always used. “This was never what you thought it was, kid. I’ve never met someone as deluded as you,” Rilienus scorned. “Put your clothes on before your father gets here.”

“My father?” Dorian hissed sitting up suddenly. He could take the beratement that came at each end of their nights together. It was part of most of the trysts Dorian partook in, though the familiar words from someone he thought different did sting more. But, his father? Here? “What do you mean?” 

“You’re not going to get any better burying yourself in men’s beds. Your father is worried about you, and he can help.” Rilienus was rolling the sleeves of his robes, clipping them back with silver clasps.

Stuffing himself into the leather pants he’d left strewn across the floor, Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Whatever are you talking about? Your bed is the only one I’ve been gracing the last few months, and my father knows nothing about it.” Dorian knew he was missing something; or rather, he was blinding himself to what he knew was happening.

“Just-” Rilienus shook his head. “Get dressed.”

Dorian had just pulled everything on when a knock sounded at the bedroom door. He felt his heart skip a beat, his spine pull up tight and erect. He needed to get out of here. Dorian quietly snagged his staff from where it rested against the wall. Rilienus opened the door to find a slave staring up at him. 

“Sir, there is a Felix Alexius here for Master Pavus.”

Relief flooded Dorian at the name alongside confusion. That did not seem to calm Rilienus though.

“Send him away. We have business with Dorian’s father tonight and that will not be interrupted.” 

Something broke inside of Dorian. Everything he’d been trying to ignore, to repress, sprang forth in the realization of Rilienus’s betrayal. Dorian had been harboring some false hope for them, lost in the feelings he had when he was wrapped up in the man’s arms, fed by his hand, and told from those beautiful lips that he was perfect. But Dorian wasn’t perfect, was he? No, he was a deluded mistake. He would always be that little boy in the library, friends only to the fleeting dead and cursed to remain alone.

“Dorian!” Felix’s voice called out from the atrium, tinged with panic. “Dor, you need to hurry. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Pushing past Rilienus with a burst of purple magic, Dorian felt the wisps wrap themselves around his lover and drive his mind to fear. He heard the man cry out, and he didn’t look back. He ran to the one person who was always there for him, the one man he could never love the way he wished he could.

“Felix, I’m coming!” His feet slipped on the polished stairs and Dorian grabbed at the railing to keep from falling. He gasped and glanced back to see Rilienus following in a fury. “Go!” he yelled to his friend and dashed down to the atrium.

The two ran from the mansion and Felix grabbed Dorian’s arm once they were outside. “I have horses. We need to go now.” He pulled Dorian down the winding road lined with grape vines that led up to the mansion.

The horses were packed with saddlebags and Dorian felt himself going cold. “Felix?”

“Just get on. I’ll explain when we get far enough away.”

Dorian grimaced but followed after, feeling as though he was leaving everything behind.

 

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

 

The first time The Iron Bull questioned the Qun, he wasn’t called The Iron Bull. He had just been given the title Ashkaari in place of his numbers; his horns were still small juts of bone on the sides of his head. He stood in the middle of the large quarters for the children and watched as the girls and boy were split up for their training.

“Why?” he asked. He wanted to play with the little girl whose number had been just before his since she hit harder than most of the others.

Their Tamassran, the one with the broken right horn and the stern yellow eyes, smiled. “Just as the river flows while the mountain stands still, so too these roles of nature are given to us. Now go, little one. You have much to learn with your brothers.” She gave his rear end a sharp slap, inciting him to movement.

Ashkaari ran to catch up with the other boys as they headed for the training yard. He didn’t see how boys and girls were anything like mountains and rivers, but he was sure that Tama had given him precious information. As usual, he stored away the tidbit of wisdom to be understood later on. Out in the yard, the boys were gathered to watch the older Qunari men run their morning drills. Commanders on the sidelines yelled out orders at those in the middle who wielded weapons and shields. Soldiers fell at each other with a ferociousness bred for the battlefield, for glory.

Among them, Ashkaari noticed, was a woman. Her chest was bound tightly, but she stood out with her different build, her larger hips. He felt even more confused now, betrayed even, and his little hands curled into fists.

“Aqun-athlok.” Tama’s voice sounded from behind and he turned. She smiled down at him and then nodded toward the woman. “She is no longer a she. He has chosen this path, this life, and so it shall be his. He will fight by their sides, bleed with them, and they will call him brother so long as this path remains at his feet.”

Ashkaari stared out at the man again with a new light in his eyes, his questions and fears at rest for now. Perhaps his friend could be aqun-athlok as well.

 

The Iron Bull found himself doubting quietly throughout the years, always putting the questions into the back of his mind with his pieces of wisdom to be sorted out later. It happened in Seheron, though. He was Hissrad now, and he stood in the middle of a field while the fog slowly slipped away. All about him were the bodies of his men, of locals, and of Tevinter slaves. Echoing off of the water and the cliffs were cries of those trying to stuff their insides back inside of themselves or stop the burning of their flesh from magic-fire. Neither would happen.

Hissrad looked up from the carnage and saw the Tevinter ships sailing in. They would dock and the fights would begin anew, with fresh rage and likely more native deaths. The ‘Vints didn’t care that the locals were caught up in their fight, so long as they made some headway in killing the Qunari, the Fog Warriors, and the Tal-Vashoth. He looked around, looked at the battle axe dripping with blood in his hand, and wanted to cry. Hissrad dropped the axe and headed back inland to where he was staying with his team.  _ Was _ ,  _ yes. _ They were all dead now. He should be, too and he still wasn’t sure how he’d been left standing. The gashes in his body hadn’t been enough to make him join the others.

Once inside the camp, Hissrad collapsed into his tent and stared at its ceiling in the falling light of the late afternoon. He could step out onto the battlefield alone tomorrow, tempt the new round of ‘Vints that would have landed by then. Their swords or magic would send him to join the others in quick order. It wouldn’t take much from him; he’d just have to stand there and not fight. What did it matter anyway? Tevinter seemed endless as it poured out mage after mage into Seheron. Why didn’t the Qun just launch a proper invasion? They spoke of conquering as though it were the only destiny they were set for, but it never came. Instead, small waves of Qunari were sent to stand by Hissrad’s side and fall to the blades of lesser people. They were sent to watch as people like that cook fell to the same blades, unheeded in their innocence. He could not take this any longer. Their purpose was null and so was his. Yes, tomorrow he would stroll down to the beach and let the ‘Vints have their way with him.

Except the next day Hissrad stood at the edge of the town, staring down at the new lines of Tevinter soldiers, and couldn’t bring himself to let them have the satisfaction. They hadn’t taken him down yet, and he was still holding out hope that the Qun would make this world right one day. So, he turned his back on the coast and sought out the other unit stationed nearby.  He needed to talk to their Viddasala. He would know how to help Hissrad find his place again. Hissrad hoped that his Tama would not hear of this, though that was unlikely. She kept up with all of her charges and made sure that they, that he, came to visit whenever they made it back to Par Vollen. Tama would know.

 

The Iron Bull had been sent to the south to work as a mercenary and gather information. As he got to see how the other species lived, Bull began to worry what it might mean for Thedas if the Qunari ever did get off their sorry asses and took over the world. Some would do just fine, but others, some people he began to care about, would not do so well under the Qun. They would be broken, driven to madness and eventually death. He should not be forming such close relationships with these people.

Still, that’s who he was. Stick up for the little people, care about them. Help them. And that’s what he did when he walked into a tavern late one night and found three men pinning a woman to the ground. They’d torn open her armor and shirt exposing breasts bound by white bandages, though they didn’t seem to be for the blood. The blood seemed only to be coming from her broken nose, the gash on her cheek, and the knuckles of the three men. Bull tilted his head and saw they were working her trousers down, that one held a blade, and they looked mean.

“Hey!” He barked. “Take a fucking step back right now!”

They turned and gave him a quick once over. The man between her legs grabbed the flail at his waist and raised it over his head, ready to bring it down and end the woman’s life.

Bull acted without too much thought. He charged and bowled the man over, feeling a slash at his face, a sharp sting, and a squelching tear. Bull roared out as he went down with the man and slammed a fist in his face a few times, feeling bones crunch. He knew the others would be on him shortly but had to make sure he incapacitated this one first.

When the sounds of fighting started instead of someone coming after him, The Iron Bull turned around to find that the woman had picked up fallen knife and was wielding it like a trained soldier. Good. Bull joined the fight, grabbing one of the men by the back of the neck and yanking them away. He flung him across the room and into a table. The woman had the third man down on the ground and was driving the butt of the dagger into his temple. All three were down and out. 

Strolling over cautiously, The Iron Bull held out his hand to help her to her feet. “You alright there, miss?”

She glared at him and growled, “I’m not a woman,” as she pulled the torn shirt over her bound chest.

Bound. Armor. Warrior. How stupid of him not to have seen it before now. “Fuck, right. Aqun-athlok. My bad. You good there, man?” He kept his hand extended, letting the man decide to take his offer or not.

A few different emotions passed over his face but he put his hand in Bull’s and allowed the Quanri to haul him to his feet. “Who are you and why the hell did you do that?” The accent was Tevinter, but there was something about him that didn’t mark him a ‘Vint like those Bull had met in Seheron.

He looked around at the mess of men they’d left on the floor. “What, save your life?”

“No!” The man pointed at Bull’s eye. “You lost your damned eye, you fool.”

The Iron Bull put a hand to his face and found that the man was not exaggerating. “Shit. Well, good thing I’ve got two, huh?” He grinned at the man who just shook his head. “I’m The Iron Bull. I run a merc group called The Chargers. Interested in joining?”

The man gaped at him like he was absolutely insane. “Uh,” he shook his head like clearing fog from the thoughts. “I’ve got nowhere else to go, and you did just save me life.”

“I pay well and I don’t allow any shit from creeps like these.” The Iron Bull crouched down and ripped a clean looking piece of fabric from one of the fallen men’s shirts and pressed it to his face. “I gotta get to Stitches, so how about we grab a drink to go?”

“Right,” the man said and snagged a bottle of something brown from the counter, leaving a handful of coins behind. “Sorry about the mess.”

The bartender was too busy watching The Iron Bull to respond to the human. Bull gave a wave and headed out. The town was small and The Chargers had camped outside of it to not draw so much attention to themselves. Not that that had worked out. The others were going to be pissed.

“I’m Cremisius Aclassi, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, Krem.” 

“Yeah, that’s...not going to stick.”

 

The Chargers had come together better than The Iron Bull could have hoped. They were a mess of people, outcasted from their societies and left to struggle on their own, but Bull had found them and given them purpose. In a way, hadn’t he given them the Qun? They each filled the positions that fit them best and they served the whole instead of the individual. They’d taken to Krem naturally, with a few questions and open acceptance. Everyone here had their oddities.

Perhaps the Qun could work for everyone; you just needed the right leader to make it all work out. Hadn’t Bull been proof of that? The Varassad who’d helped him find himself again allowed him to be where he was now.

“Hey, Bull. We’ve got another job!” Krem was headed over to where Bull sat by the fire, waving a pamphlet at him. “Runaway. Good money, but it’ll mean another romp into Tevinter.”

Bull grunted. “How much?”

“Enough to buy you a shirt, at least.”

“If there is anyone out there who can get me into a shirt, it’s sure as shit not a ‘Vint, Krempuff.”

“Aww,” Krem slugged Bull in the arm and handed over the scrawled on scroll. “You know you love me, ya big idiot.”

Reaching over, Bull ruffled the man’s hair and grinned. “Sure do, but I like this number a lot, too.”

“Right? The boys are already getting ready.”

Bull read over the letter himself. Some son of a Magister had taken off  from his private tutoring. Sounded like a kid looking for an adventure. Maybe Bull could make sure he got one, a safe one, before heading back home. “Good.”

What was it about Tevinter that kept bringing The Iron Bull back in? He’d fought most of his life against the place, hated the way their society ran, and yet played Tamasran to a ‘Vint and a bunch of other outcasts. Now he was going to rescue one of their children. Well, at least it paid well. And getting to see the actual Imperium would provide really great intel for the boys back in Par Vollen. So, he packed his bag with the rest of them and set off through Nevarra toward the Tevinter border. They’d come in near the Silent Plains but hopefully skirt around those and hit up Vyrantium to catch a boat to Qarinus. Bull wasn’t a fan of the desert anymore. It reminded him of the beaches in Seheron.

The group was packed and waiting for The Iron Bull within the hour. He smiled at his boys, ready for their next adventure.

“Chargers!”

“Yes, Chief?”

“Horns up!”

“Horns up!” 

He saw Krem use his fingers to mock Bull’s horn formation and grinned at him. The boy had stopped arguing his nicknames, especially after seeing how well the others all took to theirs. Nothing was going to ruin his little family.


	2. Home Sweet Gone

Felix had left, drawing off the mercenaries that Halward had hired to bring Dorian back home. He’d gone toward Caimen Brea in the west and Dorian skirted the edges of the Silent Plains in the east. While Dorian had had a feeling they were going to split up before the end of things, he hadn’t been ready so soon. They weren’t even out of Tevinter yet and their goodbye was too short. He lost everything in an instant and was now running for Nevarra. He could lose himself there, perhaps find some library or mage who needed an assistant. 

The sun beat down and a trickle of sweat worked its way down Dorian’s back. The horse wasn’t any better off it seemed, white sweat slicking it’s thighs and mouth. He knew he was pushing the poor thing too far and would need to stop. He sat back heavily in the saddle and dropped his heels and the horse came to a stop, both taking the moment to breathe.

Dorian climbed off of the horse and tugged him over to a small crop of rocks. It wasn’t much of a place to stop, but they had little choice this far into the Silent Plains. Likely, this was a big risk on his part, but no one traveled this way. No one was stupid enough.

From the saddle bags, Dorian pulled down a canister of water and took a long swig, and then he dug around for a bowl or something so he could water his horse, too. The beast wouldn’t last long in this heat without some. Though, Dorian supposed he could always bring it back and ride a dead thing that wouldn’t need breaks. He shook his head, thinking the sun and stress must be getting to him. He managed to find a bowl in one of the bags and poured out some water into it, setting it down for the horse. He patted its neck as he looked out over the wasteland. He needed to keep going south and make it to Nevarra before the mercenaries caught on. 

Felix had navigated around what was really going on with his father, but Dorian knew it was bad. He had a few ideas of what Halward Pavus was willing to do, but having his mind run wild the ideas was probably harming more than the truth would. It was likely there was some plan for locking Dorian up, selling him off in marriage to a powerful family, and finding some threats to keep him faithful to whatever poor wife they’d selected for him. It was more than  just being miserable in life that kept him from going back and giving in to the life he was suppose to live as an Altus. Gereon had taught him there was more to the world than what Tevinter tried to present. There were other ways of doing things, and Dorian did not want to be a contribution to the old ways. Changes were needed and they could not done of Dorian cowed to the very system he wished to see become better.

It was well into the night when Dorian finally decided to make camp. It seemed far enough away from everything that he could risk it. He really hoped that Felix was okay. 

 

Dorian had been wrong. However far he thought he had gotten from the mercenaries, it hadn’t been far enough. The burst of fire that sounded from the edge of his camp let him know that something had tripped the magic wards he had placed around himself, and he bolted upright to find men and women swarming the camp. A few were on fire and running away instead which gave Dorian pause to smirk. Good riddance. 

He scrambled for his staff, but a well-aimed kick from someone sent the polished stone staff tumbling away from him.

“Kaffas,” he growled and rolled away from the oncoming assault. He got to his own feet and made as quick an assessment as he could, then threw out a hand so that a blast of purple magic washed over a cluster of those gathered. The screaming started and Dorian turned his attention to the rest of them. The sand kept him from moving as quickly as he would have liked, but he managed to dodge a toss of ice magic and return a sputtering of fire from his fingers at the offending mage.

A shield of wavering blue caught the fire and some of it burst back making Dorian toss his arm over his face in protection. He felt a slight singe along the fabric that heated his arm but ignored it. The stone staff was half buried near his sleeping roll and had three mercenaries in front of it. Dorian dodged left towards a small outcrop of rocks that could serve as a barrier while he figured his next move. He crouched behind them and pressed his back to the cool, uneven surface. His fingers flexed as the power grew again, burbling beneath his skin like a living force. Dorian peered around the edge of his cover and saw they were flanking either side. 

Good. He only needed to clear one group so that he could get to the staff. The larger group was closer to his weapon, but they would have to do. Dorian lurched a leg around one side, tipping his weight so that he peered out but still had enough weight to fall back and pull him back to cover. He snapped a hand out and a ripple of purple magic traveled down it, washing over the group with a howling sound. Then he flipped his hand over and a curled vortex of fire shot out at the front of the group. They cowered and Dorian ran. 

He dived around the panicked group, scrambling for the staff. Once his hands curled around the thing, Dorian breathed a sigh of a prayer to the Maker. Lifting his weapon he turned, renewed, to face his attackers.

 

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

 

Bull saw them before any of the other Chargers and he moved quickly. Even from this distance, he could tell the fight was not a fair one and even though the one trapped in the middle was throwing magic, he was being overwhelmed by people dressed in ‘Vint mercenary clothing. Flashes of Seheron ran through The Iron Bull’s mind, the innocent lying fallen in their own blood. He would not let that happen again while he could stop it.

As soon as he started toward the fight, Krem drew the others into action. “To arms! To The Iron Bull!” His cry called out somewhere behind Bull. 

He could always count on his boys, on Krem. Bull spurred his horse faster and pulled the heavy axe from his back. He gave it a twirl along the side of his mount, careful not to harm the horse while he got the axe to sit comfortably in his hand. His mount bared down on the group, but the noise they brought with them drew the other mercenary band’s attention. A few turned and positioned themselves defensively, apparently sure that their teammates would handle the mage they’d surrounded. 

The Iron Bull caught sight of the man in the midst of the chaos and time slowed for a few long heartbeats. He was tall, well built, with beautiful bronze skin that shone like sand in the firelight of the magic that he cast. He had a perfectly curled mustache that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, on anyone that did not carry themselves with such an air of confidence. He moved like water over the land, his magic flowing from him as waves on the beach he attacked. Bull felt a punch to his gut as the man caught a blast of ice magic and was thrown back. Somehow, he managed to fall gracefully, too, and the man flipped ass over tea kettle to land on his feet a few yards away. 

With a roar, The Iron Bull charged at the few who dared stand in his way. The horse reared and struck out with iron-clad hooves while Bull swung his axe to split a man groin to collarbone. A quick jerk pulled it free and the man fell to pieces at his feet. 

With his own surprising grace, The Iron Bull leapt from his horse and charge the next person, knocking them to the ground with his shoulder. His boot found the woman’s neck and he glanced up while he had a second to check on the mage in distress. The man was down. The Iron Bull saw him crumpled on the ground, his staff dropped a few feet away. A man with a bladed staff was sprinting toward the fallen mage and Bull had only a moment to decide. He flung his axe, ridding himself of a weapon but stopping the charging man from killing the would-be-rescue.

Twisting his foot, he snapped the neck of the woman beneath him and turned to the last one. The man was hesitating between flee and fight, eyes raking up and down The Iron Bull’s massive frame. Bull grinned and the bloodlust must have been bright in his eyes; the man turned and fled.

All around him, the Chargers pulled up and wreaked havoc on those remaining. Taking a breath, Bull centered himself again. He needed to get to the mage, but that meant fighting his way there. Good.

Without a weapon things got interesting. Bull ran for a small cluster of mages who had staffs trained on Grim and Skinner. Grabbing the first one he came to, Bull flung him into one of the others and felt a spark of magic run up his arm. The mage had reflexively thrown some sort of lightning magic that put fear like a tight fist in Bull’s chest. He needed to crush the untamed magic, and so he attacked again. Bull got his hand on a fallen short sword. It was dwarfed in his grip, but it would do. As the remaining mage turned toward him, a shimmer of blue around their body, Bull swung the little sword with all the might he had.

The strike shattered the blue defensive magic, jarring the metal but not enough to stop it’s onslaught. Bull was able to drive the blade down into the man, to end the screaming in a stroke. Dragging it back with crimson filth filling the fuller, Bull flung the sword at the one getting to her feet and then drove forward and dropped an armor covered fist into the face of the last of the three as he lay still sprawled on the ground.

Standing once more, Bull found that the battle was dwindling. He had an opening and the mage hadn’t moved yet, so he marched over to the man in the middle of the chaos. He bent and carefully rolled him over, cringing as the scent of blood invaded his nose. The man was a mess. Bull stuck two heavy fingers to the man’s neck and found a pulse. He was still alive, still had a chance. Bull scooped him up and looked around the battlefield. The Chargers had made quick work of the leftovers and the other mercenaries looked to be fleeing. He cast a sidelong glance at the staff and hesitated. The man in his arms would likely not be happy if that got left behind. So, with a shudder, Bull picked up the polished staff giving a soft grunt at the fact that it was solid stone.

“Chief, we’re all clear.”

“Throat cutters.”

“Yes, Chief.” Krem tossed a half-hearted salute and then the team made their rounds on the bloody field.

The Iron Bull paused. “Krem? Keep one alive. We’ll need info.”

Krem smiled and gave a short nod. “Sure thing. Always love a good interrogation session.” The kid still had some anger issues to work out after the shit he’d been through, and Bull was happy to help him along.

They cleared the field quickly and headed out to make a camp of their own, away from the smoldering remains of the fight. Getting into the saddle was difficult while carrying a man in his lap. He’d handed the staff off to Dalish after some complaint on her part, so that was one less thing for Bull to worry about. Throughout the ride, Bull kept a close eye on the man in the saddle with him, making sure they weren’t going to lose him in transit. 

They were nearing a distance that Bull thought was far enough from the wreckage when he suddenly found himself looking down into blinking silver-hazel eyes. “Hey there, big guy. Hold on a little longer and we’ll fix ya up.”

“Who-” The man coughed, cringed, and then curled upward into Bull’s body. His face tucked under Bull’s chin and his hot breath fanned over the sensitive skin there. “Who are you?”

“The Iron Bull. What about you big guy? What’s your name?” If he could keep the man talking that could mean he had a chance at keeping him alive.

The response was strained, the pain the man was in clear with his words. “Dorian of- well. Dorian.”

The Iron Bull pulled his horse to a slow stop. “Alright Dorian. We’re going to have to get down off this guy and you’re probably not going to like the feel of that. Take a breath for me?”

“A breath?”

“Mhm.”

As Dorian breathed in, Bull swung down off his mount with Dorian still in his arms. The pained breath the man would have sucked in with the jarring movement was pushed out on an exhale instead, hopefully keeping from tightening any damaged ribs in the process. It was followed by a hiss of an inhale and clenched teeth.

“That’s good. You’re doing good, Dorian.” Bull looked up at the others, ready to give orders they were already following. 

“Feels like I’m doing horribly,” the man managed to chuckle. From the dark flash in his eyes that followed, the laugh must have hurt.

Tents went up in record time and Stitches had a place to work in a matter of minutes. Bull set Dorian down on a cot, the man unconscious once more, and sat in the corner to keep an eye on things. 

“You don’t need to hover,” Stitches grunted but said little else as he set to work.

Bull just huffed and folded his arms over his chest, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Krem came in a while later. “What’s up?”

“The merc didn’t make it. We don’t have anyone to question.”

“Hmm.” Bull’s eye was still on the man in the bed. Stitches had just left, leaving him wrapped in bandages with salves, sheets tucked around his waist. He was in a great shape, other than the obvious signs of battle. “That was a lot of guys for just one mage.”

“He’s an altus. Too nice a staff and clothes to be something less.” Krem stood next to Bull, nudging him with his hip. “You think he’s the runaway?”

“Looking for a kid, aren’t we?”

Bull could feel Krem shrug. 

“Dunno. Those Magisters call their offspring kids for a long time. And he doesn’t look that old. Twenties, right?”

Cocking his head as though the new angle would help determine something new, Bull sighed. “Could be. Could be older, too. Guess we’ll find out more when he wakes.

 

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

 

When Dorian awoke, he was surprised to find he wasn’t in that much pain. Of course, that had been his first real fight, his first real wounds, so what the hell did he know? He came to late one afternoon and was greeted by the sight of a giant qunari sitting in the corner of his tent, asleep. Dorian tried to keep as quiet as possible while shifting to get a better look at the creature. He’d never seen one up close and curiosity was definitely a fault of his. 

The man was big, that was for certain. Perhaps even big for his own kind, and the horns stuck out like a bull’s. Dangerous. The silver-gray skin was riddled in whitened scars but instead of sitting like flaws, Dorian thought they rather suited the man. He evoked a feeling of power, radiating it through the small room. Dorian would be damned before he admitted to finding the creature attractive, but he certainly had an appeal.

“If you’d like me to flex for you, just ask,” the man said suddenly. 

Not asleep, and Dorian had been caught staring. He flushed and looked away. “Apologies. I’ve never seen one of your kind this close before. It was rude of me to gawk.”

The man snorted. “No worries. I’m used to it.” He shifted, drawing Dorian’s attention once more. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he gave his own look-over. “How you feeling?”

Dorian stretched gingerly, testing the twists and bends of his body. “Surprisingly well. Your healer is gifted.”

“Hell yeah he is. Gets a lot of practice with me and my boys.”

“I’m not sure that’s something you should be proud of. Shouldn’t you take more pride in  _ not _ getting hurt on the job?” Dorian pushed down the blanket that covered him; he’d been changed into a linen pair of pants and nothing but bandages covered his upper body. Well, there were also the bruises. Some of his tanned skin had turned a molting yellow-purple along his shoulder, bicep, and at the edges of the bandaging.

“It’s worse underneath. Probably good you can’t see it all.” Rather intuitive of-whatever his name was. The qunari got to his feet and his height was all the more exemplified in the small space of the low tent ceiling. “We should probably get you something to eat, Dorian.”

The sound of his name on the other man’s lips had Dorian freezing in his assessment of himself. Suspicion put his back rigid and his hand suddenly itched for the feel of his staff. “How do you know my name?”

“Ah, don’t remember then. You gave it to me when I carried you here.”

“Ca-” Dorian sputtered. “Carried me? That’s, I suppose it makes sense given my state at the time.” Still, knowing that this man had carried him from the battlefield put a weird feeling in his head, one that he was intent on ignoring. “I don’t remember any of it. What do I call you?”

“The Iron Bull.”

Dorian’s eyes flicked to the horns. “Rather to the point, isn’t it?”

The Iron Bull tossed his head back with a belly-deep laugh. “Oh that’s rich.”

“Unintentional, I assure you.”

“Still, you said it. But yes. And my team is called The Chargers.”

Crinkling his face, Dorian groaned. “Just my luck, to be saved by absolute savages with a love for puns.”

“Just wait.” The Iron Bull snorted another laugh. “I’m going to get Stitches and a plate of food. Don’t go anywhere.”

The way it was worded, Bull could have meant he was going to get the item stitches, but Dorian had a funny feeling that was actually the name of the person who worked as their medic. He would sigh if he had an exasperation left. Figuring he had a little time before The Iron Bull made it back, Dorian decided to try out standing. It wouldn’t do to stay on his back for much longer. He needed to be moving on before he put these people in danger, or before they figured out how much of a bounty they could make off of him. Unless they had figured that out…

Shaking the feeling, Dorian put his feet on the ground and found that they were bare. It made sense, but it still made him shiver to feel sand against his bare skin. His legs were wobbly, yet they held his weight and he stretched again. The ache of broken bones finally came through the medicine he’d been given and a dull throb setup along his ribs and down his left arm. He cast about for his staff and found it set neatly along a footlocker. Thankfully unharmed fingers wrapped around the sleek stone and Dorian gave it a few low twirls that the small space allowed. The ache came sharper in his body which didn’t matter so long as he could wield his weapon. He needed to move on quickly.

Before he could leave or The Iron Bull could come back, another man entered the tent. He was just shorter than Dorian and had the sharp features of a Tevinter. His rough complexion, poor posture, and lack of magical aura marked him of the soparati. His accent confirmed it. 

“Listen here,” the man started, pausing to look Dorian up and down, likely to determine the level at which this mage sat in the Imperium. The calculations that Dorian had run through could be seen passing through this man’s eyes. “Altus,” he decided on. “The Iron Bull is the single most important part of my life-”

“Not the brightest, revealing that bit of information, but please, continue,” Dorian interrupted with a sniff of his nose that twitched his hopefully still perfectly curled mustache.

He cast a low browed glare at Dorian, not even bothering to look at the staff. “If you do anything to hurt him or betray him, if you look at him in a way I don’t like, if you say his name in a funny tone,” the soparati jabbed a finger at the altus’s chest, “I’ll flay you alive and hang you out for the fucking crows.”

Dorian smiled and placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. The invasion of his space would not be met with cowering. “I believe that you would, and I assure you that I have nothing untoward planned for your dear Iron Bull.”

“ _ The _ ,” he said. “He likes the article.”

“A thousand apologies.  _ The _ Iron Bull.”

It was then that The Iron Bull and Stitches decided to make their entrance into this happy conversation. The qunari looked between the two men and Dorian felt somehow smaller. 

“What’s going on?” The Iron Bull folded his arms over his massive chest.

Stitches, a friendly looking type who didn’t seem to fit with the other two, ignored everything all together and started poking and prodding at Dorian. It was hard to ignore, but Dorian tried to focus on the other two.

“We were just having a chat, that’s all,” the soparati said and gave one last pointed look to Dorian.

With a nod, Dorian decided to agree with him. “Certainly. Getting to know another one of my saviors, nothing more.”

The Iron Bull grunted but didn’t drag the conflict out any longer, to Dorian’s great relief. Instead, the soparati left the tent and it was just Dorian, Bull, and Stitches. The tension, unfortunately, stayed behind. Dorian felt as though he could choke on it, it was so poignant. Someone should speak. Someone should get things moving along. Before Dorian could act on his own thought, Stitches tugged at the bandages and brought the attention to him and the medical situation. 

“These need changing,” he gruffed. He may have been a great doctor, but his bedside manner was as rough as the rest of the crew. Perhaps Dorian had been too quick to judge his soft nature not fitting in here.

Dorian had to put his staff back down and he immediately felt less in control of things.

“How’s he doing?” The Iron Bull asked. He hovered off to the side of the tent almost managing to lessen his hulking intimidation.

“I’m fine.” Dorian would be damned before he let others dictate for him.

A hard finger jabbed into his side and Dorian grimaced, letting out a hiss of breath. “I’ll tell you when you’re fine, ‘Vint.”

The Iron Bull laughed as he watched Stitches abuse Dorian. “If you’re done upsetting the big guy, Stitches, I’d like to chat with him a bit more.”

Something in the way he said that put Dorian back on edge. His eyes followed Stitches’ movement as he finished changing the bandaging, refusing to look at the Qunari just yet. Procrastination couldn’t stop the mercenaries from hurting or returning him, but it gave Dorian a moment to think. They’d fixed him up, so they didn’t want to hurt him personally. Either slavers or they worked for his father. If they worked for his father-

As soon as Stitches left, things got serious and Dorian had nowhere to run. 

“So.” Bull cocked an eyebrow. “You that kid they’re looking for?”

Dorian sniffed. “Depends. Who is  _ they _ ?”

“Some uppity magister put a notice out all the way down into Nevarra. A few crews picked it up. And we just happened to be in the area.”

“I suppose you’re looking to collect on the outrageous bounty this uppity magister likely proposed?” Maybe if he used as much deflective language as possible, he could fend the beast off long enough to snatch his staff and make a run for it. Somewhere. 

“Well,” The Iron Bull scratched under his chin, his wide, flat nose scrunching. “In cases like this, runaways ‘specially from Tevinter, I like to find out  _ why _ before I decide to act on a payment. Certain things ain’t worth the price.”

Not worth the price. Dorian scoffed. “What? An escaped slave is easy money but something that puts up a fight costs more?”

The Iron Bull put his hands up and lurched up from the spot he hovered in and Dorian retreated back, ntoing that his staff that was now further away. “Whoa, whoa. Not like that. I mean, I ain’t dropping an abused kid back to their parents just for some coin. Fuck it, the cause is good enough, I’m taking the kid somewhere else, ya know?”

Dorian eyed him, still cautious, though the answer had been more than he had hoped for. Perhaps they could be his way out instead of his betrayers. He still had a few questions, but this was a start. His hands started to itch without the staff. It was in grasping reach of the Qunari, though the man likely couldn’t wield it considering the seeming lack of magic in his aura. Still.

“If the boy were running because his father was going to lock him up due to some perceived perversion of the life he had mapped for the boy, that he was going to force the boy into a marriage and position that would likely end in the boy’s suicide, would you return that boy for his father’s vast amounts of money?”

The silence while The Iron Bull calculated the truth of what he was hearing stretched on long enough that Dorian shifted his weight and cleared his throat. Then silver-honey eyes met the one hard gray eye that showed more concern than Dorian was prepared to see. He shuddered and broke the gaze.

“No. That’s money I couldn’t take.”

In what could barely be called a whisper of a voice, Dorian quivered, “I won’t go back to that place. My escape or my death is all you’ll have of me.”

The Iron Bull sunk back once more. “What if I asked for your partnership?”

If someone had told Dorian that he’d be joining up with a mercenary band and traipsing his way across the rest of Thedas just two days ago, he would have told them to go fuck themselves. Now, he stood on the precipice of a decision he wasn’t ready to make. How long did he really think he could make it on his own, though? A Tevinter mage outside of the Imperium was either at war or disgraced to the world. He had little choice, and this felt like a viable option for survival.

 

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

 

The Chargers were not going to like losing out on all that money. The Iron Bull could barely believe the offer he was giving the man, especially without talking to the others first. Clearly Krem had had some negative run-in with this man, but Dorian oozed  _ needy _ , and Bull couldn’t resist that. He collected the broken ones, the odd ones, the ones who needed him. Damn did this man need someone.

“There’s a bag of clothes if you want to see if anything fits,” Bull said to Dorian, pointing at the bag on the floor at the end of the bed. “I guessed at some sizes and grabbed what I could find.”

Dorian eyed the bag with clear disdain. “Grabbed from where?”

With a laugh, Bull replied, “The others. It’s fine, prissy pants. We’ll stop in a town and get you your dresses again soon.”

Bull hadn’t known humans could growl the way Dorian did, and it would likely have been intimidating to someone who wasn’t The Iron Bull.

“They’re robes.”

“Right. Well, get dressed and get your ass out here with the rest of us.”

Deciding he should face the fire sooner rather than later, The Iron Bull stepped back out of the tent and gathered everyone to the center of camp. Dorian followed soon after having found a loose fitting linen shirt that went well with the pants. Perhaps Bull shouldn’t stare so much. 

“Alright Chargers. We’ve got a new addition, and we’re not going to be collecting on that bounty.” 

A collective groan went around the camp, but it was Krem’s silence that most grabbed The Iron Bull’s attention. It wasn’t often that Bull made an error in judgement of a person, but maybe there was something about this mage that was throwing off his people skills. Maybe Krem had discovered something that Bull had missed. 

“We’re bringing on another archer? Think we need one?” Dalish hugged her staff tight to her chest.

Dorian looked perplexed by this as he stood a bit off from the others, near the back. It usually took time for the new person to find their spot, their role, with the intricacies of the group so this detachment didn’t feed into the nervousness at the idea that Bull had misjudged. Still, it felt like every little thing was something to pay attention to 

“Yeah, we got another mage. Yeah, we could use him. Some high up ‘Vint, private training and whatever, he could probably kick some ass.” Bull nodded to the man, assuring him. “Besides, we don’t money for kidnappings and shit.”

“Whose kidnapping him?” Krem spit out. “We’d just take him home.”

Even Bull could feel the spike of magic in the immediate area, and he knew this was Dorian tensing over Krem’s attitude. He needed to diffuse this quickly.

“Pretty sure we could have said the same for you, Krempuff. But we didn’t do that, did we?”

A moment of silence, then the magic died down with Krem’s concession. “No, we didn’t.”

“Good. Now, we need to get back out of Tevinter and find ourselves a job, huh?” The iron Bull watched the tone in the group shift. Excitement was threading through them once more.

Skinner pushed around Rocky’s stocky build. “Could make it really interesting and steal a contract out from under The Crow’s noses.”

The group laughed or snorted at her suggestion, but not one of them turned that idea down. The Iron Bull did enjoy sticking it to big groups like The Crows, especially the ones who relied on things like slavery for their ranks. “Right, could be fun.”

When the team packed up, Dorian kept close to Bull, and really he couldn’t blame him. Though, most of the new ones had kept their distance from Bull at first. They’d connected with the others and formed little groups of friendship while holding respect for their leader, but not immediate trust. The Iron Bull was sure this wasn’t trust necessarily, so much as it was the most amount of trust considering Krem and Dalish’s outbursts.

Damn him, but he’d picked up yet another ‘Vint.


	3. Bonding over Giants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian bonds with the Chargers and they fight a giant. Also almost some Orlesians. And The Iron Bull is definitely afraid of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so bad at writing things in a timely manner. Apologies.

Dorian had been with the Chargers for six days now. They’d made it to somewhere in the middle of Nevara, a small town with a name Dorian didn’t remember and a tavern covered in job posters for mercenary groups. Things had been slow all around since getting away from that group following him, and his wounds were near completely healed. The burn he’d gotten on his arm from his robe catching fire would leave a faint lighter spot of scarring, something Dorian tried not to feel self-conscious about. It seemed every step he took away from his parents’ house lead him to more and more flaws. Maybe it would have been easier to play the part that they’d always wanted him to fill. 

Currently, Dorian was sat on the edge of a bed in the tavern they’d taken over with their numbers. He was sharing the room with The Iron Bull and Cremissius, but they were out looking for work at the moment, leaving Dorian some time to himself. He didn’t get that much with this group, and it had been a good thing. Now, alone, clinging to the new clothes he’d gotten, Dorian felt like crying. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted his life to go. He was twenty-four, worked well with Alexius, and had planned on sticking with his mentor long enough for the two of them to start making some real changes in Tevinter.

Kaffas, but he missed Felix something fierce, too. The man had been a beacon of light in the fucked up life Dorian chose to live. Now, he was off running around Tevinter protecting Dorian’s escape. He should be at home taking care of himself, making sure he kept to his powders, and making sure his father stayed out of trouble.

Frustrated, Dorian sprang up and tossed the robes he’d gotten onto the bed. He stomped across the room, realized he didn’t have further to go, and turned around to stomp back the other way. The pacing was helping. He had a lot of pent up energy and it was running through his body, wave after wave. He wanted to hit something. Or throw his magic around some. Or fuck something, maybe. A drink wouldn’t hurt. 

“Vishante kaffas,” he growled hoping to keep back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. No matter the trouble he’d thought to get into, this was far from his guesstimation. 

He grabbed his best outfit, the black leather with the stitched red snake and draping cowl about his shoulders. He’d found it in the back of a shop in the first town they’d stopped at. It fit him well, hugged his hips and had straps across the shoulders and chest like he preferred so that his movements when he casted were easier. Then, he plopped in front of grungy mirror and did his best to apply the kohl he’d managed to get his hands on. It would have to do, though he’d have liked the rest of makeup.

As he stepped outside the tavern, Dorian felt a warm breeze brush over him and even that bit of open escape made him feel better. He wasn’t the type who could stay hidden for long periods of time, and exploring the town without feeling so watched over would help lessen some of his fears. He strolled with a fake sort of confidence that was enough to convince others of the high opinion he held of himself. There had never seemed to be a time when he wasn’t faking it, though, and he had so hoped that he’d find that real confidence one day under Alexius’s tutelage. 

There was an outdoor cafe in one corner of the town’s marketplace, and Dorian got himself a seat near the sidewall where he could look out over the trading area. It was busy for a small town, and he had to assume it was a stopping point on a trade route; in any case, the marketplace was alive with movement. He watched as children scuttled under the feet of adults, little fingers snatching for coins or snacks. Vendors called out their goods with whatever clever pitch they could attach to the items. A man yelled and waved his arms around, taking a glance to each side to see if anyone saw his outrage, if anyone would substantiate his claim. No one rose to his defense and eventually he melted away into the crowd once more. 

A glass of wine and a small pastry were set in front of Dorian, and he took his time with them both. He was sure that luxuries would come moons apart with this group, and he’d savor each one that he managed to get his hands on. What was he doing? The likes of him following around a mercenary group led by a qunari? 

“Hey there, big guy,” came the rumbling tones of said qunari. The Iron Bull approached the cafe and Dorian, a grin sitting in the corner of his mouth. Cremissius was nowhere to be seen. “I was hoping you’d get yourself out of that room.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that,  _ big guy _ ?”

The Iron Bull chuckled quickly. “You needed to get out of your head for a bit.”

“And this little place is supposed to fix that?” Dorian put the glass of wine to his lips and sipped at it slowly, watching The Iron Bull over the rim. He licked his lips and the coiled a finger through his mustache to ensure that it was perfectly coiled. 

“The place doesn’t matter so much as the distraction. Anything is better than confined sulking.”

Sucking his teeth at the accusation, “I do not sulk, thank you very much.”

“Sure, so what do you call it?”

“Thinking. Alone.”

The Iron Bull snorted disbelievingly. “Right.”

Silence fell between  the two as The Iron Bull grabbed the chair across from Dorian, spun it around so the back was facing the table, and then straddled it. Dorian leaned back from the scent of leather and blood, running a nervous finger over the edge of the rough wood table. It was a heavy, pedestrian piece meant to last, not to beautiful. He had to wonder if anything beautiful was meant to last. Certainly he didn’t feel as though he was built to last the trials that were building up for him, and he was a pretty thing. Maybe his lot in life was to be pretty and break early.

“Wanna talk?” How The Iron Bull was able to pitch that rumbling bass of a voice so low, so intimately, Dorian didn’t know, but it made even this public conversation feel private.

Dorian stared into that hard, silver eye. He really did want to, and specifically to this man before him. “Not really. I wouldn’t know how to explain what I’m feeling.”

The Iron Bull nodded. “Want me to go?” 

“Not really.”

He nodded again and ordered some food and ale. The two sat quietly regarding each other and the town around them. It was something; it was enough. Dorian didn’t know where things were going for him, but at least he didn’t have to go about figuring it out completely alone. 

 

Surprisingly, Dalish was the first person Dorian really connected with outside of The Iron Bull. Two nights outside of that little town, the group was gathered around a fire and were camping in the wilds. Dorian and Dalish were a bit away from the group, taking advantage of the open meadow near their camp to practice with their staves. The stances that Dalish took were very natural and logical; whereas, Dorian practiced with more flourish which allowed for more complicate draws of magic. 

Dalish preferred a longer front stance that put her weight forward, and with her ice heavy magic, that meant she leaned towards the attack a lot quicker than Dorian would. He took up a cat stance, meaning his weight was on his back leg, front toes barely touching the ground, and this allowed for his quick flourish into whatever movement or placement he deemed best. It also meant he was a bit more on the defensive. What this dynamic allowed for was an equal exchange; the two mages traded positions, corrected each other’s stances as they tried the new styles, and both ended up with their fair share of bruises from the physical aspect of the fighting.

“Hitting your opponent with your staff wasn’t exactly emphasized as a technique in the schools I went to.”

“Mm. Well out in the real world, we like to win however you can. Better to look sloppy and brutish than to end up dead in a ditch,” Dalish said as she brought her stave down on Dorian’s exposed shoulder. 

He managed to bring up enough of a shielding to make the blow a glancing one, but he was still thrown off balance by the sudden attack. “I suppose that makes a lot  of sense, out here at least.”

Dalish wrinkled her flat nose. “You didn’t practice  _ any _ hand to hand?”

With a shrug, Dorian fell back into his defensive stance. “We have some, sure. But the nobles feel that magic is the path to winning, and that it is a higher form of combat. If you get to a point where you need hand to hand, you’re not a very good mage.”

“That makes sense, too. For you richies in your mansions.” She chuckled and Dorian couldn’t help but laugh with her. She swung her stave around and settled back defensively as well. A waiting game.

“I don’t exactly have a mansion anymore. Or ever, for that matter. It belonged to my parents.” 

He lunged forward, shooting a spark of harmless color from the end of the staff. As he saw Dalish lurch back away from the sparks, Dorian darted to the right and swung the staff along low across where her legs should be in her sturdy, rooted stance. The staff connected with a thwack and a yelp from Dalish.

She was quick to fire back, lashing out with a blast of magic that sent Dorian spilling back from the fight. He managed to keep on his feet, though the push of the magic slid him back. As she lifted her staff, Dorian noted the odd balance it seemed to have in her hand, as though the end were too light, and when she brought it up to strike, it mislanded. Dorian was able to easily duck it and put that mental note aside for later.

By the end, Dorian was worn down and panting while Dalish seemed barely winded. He was encased in ice magic, using his own heat to keep a warm layer between himself and the magic, but he was done for.

“I yield. You win, Dalish.”

She grinned in a way that spoke more of deviant pride than playful triumph, but for now Dorian would take it. He was bonding with her, with the Chargers. Right path or no, this was his to walk, and he should make the most of it. 

 

When The Bull’s Chargers made it to the next town for restocking, Dorian broke away from the pack to hunt for a specific item. It was Rocky and Skinner’s turn to get rations and supplies anyway, so the others were free to pick up whatever odds and ends they wanted. Or to play around in the brothel. While Dorian definitely saw the appeal in that, he had something more important in mind.

The shop he found was in a back corner of the town, marked by a sign shaped like a staff. Inside, a woman sat behind a large counter covered in scrolls, runes, and herbs. She smiled at him and it was all teeth, feeling nearly like a grimace. 

“Welcome, welcome my good serah! And how can Mistress Kelinda help such a fine gentleman today?” Her voice was the screech of a kettle. 

“I’m hoping you might have staff counter weights, actually. For a friend you see. Her poor staff is simply too unbalanced for such a petit thing,” he cooed.

“Ah, a lovely lady caught your interest?” Kelinda cooed back to him as though sharing in some secret.

He let her think it, knowing that love often lowered prices. “Afraid so. Quite smitten, though she has the toughest defenses to break through. She used to be a Dalish elf, you see. But now, well I’m not certain to be honest, but I find myself travelling in her company and find I  _ must _ do whatever I can to gain her favor.”

“Come, come!” Kelinda grabbed Dorian’s arm and dragged him toward the back corner of her shop. 

There was a lovely set up with all sorts of staff additions, including some wicked looking blades that Dorian had half a mind to pick up for himself. He’d landed himself in enough trouble to warrant their need, and Dalish was helping learn to use more than just magic with his staff. Passing that by, though, he looked at the counter weights available and picked up a twisting bit of metal that would tighten around one end of the staff. It looked a bit like winding vines or branches of a tree. It looked like nature, and perhaps something Dalish would appreciate given her elven background. 

“This is perfect,” Dorian breathed out as he hefted the bit of metal. It was a good weight, all things considered. He’d been able to get a hold of Dalish’s staff long enough to gauge weight one night, and he felt the pressure of her own weight from the fights. He was a fairly good guesser at something like this.

“It is quite lovely, isn’t it?” The way Kelinda eyed the piece, a glint in the corner of her smile, told Dorian it was likely a pretty price, too. He would need to turn up the charm.

He sighed heavily and eased it back toward the shelf, then let his hands wandered towards something less auspicious. “I’m afraid that something so beautiful is likely out of my price range though, so for the sake of not embarrassing us both, perhaps I’ll look at something a touch more simplistic.” His hands hovered over a plan wrap of fabric with a set of heavy, silver balls at the end. It was nothing he would ever buy.

Kelinda tsked her tongue and slapped his hand lightly away. “No, no, no. Those won’t do, dear. Those won’t do at all. Take the other piece. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Dorian smiled. He had her now.

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

The Iron Bull trudged through the entrails of a giant he managed to finish off with a leaping drag of his war axe. Blood and viscera had gone everywhere when the beast jerked about in its death throes, and though The Iron Bull would normally let out a bellowing roar, it became a laugh at the undignified squawk that came from Dorian. 

“This is the foulest, most noxious-” Dorian devolved into Teven curses. 

For such an upstanding gentleman, the man had a mouth fouler than most of the Chargers. Aside from Krem, the others didn’t really know since he kept it all in Tevene. Bull  had learned those words in Seheron, though.

“Aw,” Bull boomed. “Did I get your pretty skirts all dirty?”

“They’re  _ robes _ , though it doesn’t much matter because yes, you did.” 

The red at the tips of Dorian’s ears was not giant blood. The man was blushing in fury which only made The Iron Bull laugh all the more. Bull moved out of the mess now, watching Dorian as he vainly attempted to brush some of the gore off of himself. All the brushing did was rub the mess in more. His flustered movements, the hisses of breath that carried curses, were captivating. He seemed so out of his element, and yet he still managed to hold his chin up in a way that allowed him to look down on everything. It amazed Bull how the man could move with such grace and confidence in himself through a world that had seemingly betrayed him so often.

“What?” Dorian snapped at him.

The Iron Bull hadn’t realized how intently he’d been staring and covered with another booming laugh. “Just watchin’ you fumble about. Missing your slaves?”

“I didn’t have any,” Dorian shot back.

Cocking an eyebrow, The Iron Bull stared down a truthful answer.

“Fine,” Dorian affected. “My parents did, not me. And they were treated quite well, I might add.”

Krem snorted in disbelief, of course. The Iron Bull wasn’t sure who in his little family would warm up the slowest to Dorian, but he hadn’t thought it would have been Krem. Which said a lot about how old Bull must be getting. He should have been able to read every one of his guys from a league off.

“Hey, Chief!” Rocky was yelling from down the woodland path. He’d managed to rig up something that had blown the bottom out of a tree and dropped it on the giant late in the fight. It had been what tripped the thing up enough for Bull to pull off that awesome jump and head-split move. 

“What’s up, Rocky?”

“Think we might have trouble headed this way.”

Down the path a ways was a trail of dust kicking up, and quickly. Someone on horseback. The Iron Bull looked at his team and could only guess who the trouble could be for. Any number of them had offended someone at some point, often resulting in them ending up with Bull’s team. Dorian was their newest trespasser, and with his bounty still floating around, it was likely trouble for him.

“Chargers! Horns up!” He knew the call would bring them to attention once more. They weren’t likely to let anything sneak up and ruin their wonderful day. Bull had planned on heavy drinking and celebration after such an awesome kill.

Everyone fell in line and managed to look somewhat like a team when the group of humans came riding up to them. They didn’t look like ‘Vints, so that was a good start. The person at the head of their party rode a nice looking chestnut gelding that pranced heavily when they came to a stop. The mask over the rider’s face was intricate gold. Orlesians. Even from behind the mask, his sneering look as he raked his gaze up and down The Iron Bull could be seen. What an Orlesian was doing this far into Navarra, Bull wasn’t sure.

“Where is the nearest  _ civilized _ town?” The man had a high nasal voice that sounded like a nug squeal. 

“For you?” The Iron Bull grinned. “I suspect back the way you came.”

The man’s sneer seemed to deepen behind the mask and his voice managed to pitch higher. “What a disgusting creature. I should have suspected no less from an oxman.”

A cacophony of voices sounded from behind The Iron Bull. His men coming to his immediate defense, and the sounds of it warmed the cold cockles of his heart. If any team would put down a man for a quick insult, it would be this group. Still, it was the sound of Dorian tossing out a Teven curse at the man that really got The Iron Bull’s attention. He should really get used to hearing the new insults added among the old; soon it would be as familiar as when Dalish went off into elven or Rocky slid into dwarven. 

The men pulled their horses back, but they did not yield the road. Of course, if they planned on going around, they would have a fuck of a time with the giant lying across the road. Tensions were rising as the two parties stared each other down. Normally, Bull liked a good fight right after another, but a lot of the guys were already done in from the giant. He didn’t exactly want anyone getting hurt.

“Let’s all calm down, huh? Town’s not far. You ju-”

The man wasn’t ready to drop anything, though. “I’m not taking directions from a talking cow!”

That was it. The Iron Bull could feel the anger running through his body like a physical heat now. He was sinking back into a fighting stance, repositioning his hand on the axe, when suddenly a purple haze washed over the men. Something spectral swirled around them, and they went mad, for lack of a better explanation. Horses and men screamed and scattered in all directions. One even managed to get tangled up trying to flee over the fallen giant’s legs. 

That was not natural, and it put a chill down The Iron Bull’s spine. That was something he couldn’t fight against, something that could get into his head and he wouldn’t be able to get back out. Bull took a step away from the haze and spun around on his men as though some answer rested with them.

And it did. The same purple of the haze was lit up along Dorian’s arms and staff. 

“You did that-what did you do?” Bull stumbled over his words. He didn’t often crack in front of people, but that was not something he was okay with. He didn’t mind the fighting magic that Dalish used, or even the shielding she threw up around his boys, so long as she left Bull out of it. But that, something he didn’t know how to explain, sat like a heavy rock on his chest.

Dorian looked down, wringing his hands along the staff. “Ah, yes. I have some necromantic abilities. That was, well it wasn’t anything that could hurt you, and I of course would never use magic against any of you.”

The Iron Bull wanted that to help. He wanted that to make everything okay because he really liked Dorian, but he could not. Not yet, at least. So, he nodded and stepped away from things.

“Alright, get cleaned up and let’s get going. I don’t want to be around when they come back to their senses.”

No one wanted to argue that point, so they picked up their things, looted whatever they could from the giant and its area around the woods, and headed off towards the Free Marches once more. They were slowly making their way towards the Marches, figuring they could snag a few contracts there before plying themselves off down in Ferelden and Orlais for a time. The further from Tevinter, the better.

 

They were in another camp. Staying outside of towns often just made sense. They were a group that drew a lot of attention, and it was easier on everyone if they didn’t. Plus, it was easier to get rowdy drunk in a place that didn’t any sort of law enforcement. The boys had all spent their time in a jail cell. Around the fire tonight, everyone was excited. They were retelling the tale of the giant, embellishing more and more with each iteration. For his part, The Iron Bull stayed quiet as he contemplated. 

Every so often, his eyes would fall to Dorian. Why had he so quickly taken the man in? He collected strays, sure. Bull took in anyone who didn’t have a place to fit with society. It was something he just couldn’t help, and likely had to do with his upbringing in the Qun and their insistence on each person having a place in the world. Each of his men had their place, whether the world would see it or not. The Iron Bull saw it, and he’d seen something in Dorian that night, too. 

Still, the man had that creepy death magic. And he was from Tevinter. The more that he learned, the more he should be terrified of the guy. He was almost afraid to ask if the man had served time in Seheron. That would be just what could send The Iron Bull over the edge. Picturing this beautiful human dragging slaves up a beach, setting fire to innocent villagers. That would be just too much. 

“Hey, Chief. What’s got you all bummed tonight?” Krem was pushing a mug of ale into his hand, which he took.

Dodge. Deflect. Lie. “A giant is badass and all, but I was hoping for a dragon. Been a long time since we had a really good fight like a dragon.”

“Ha!” Skinner downed her ale. “Only the Chief would put down a kill like this afternoon as  _ not good enough _ .”

“Damn straight he would!” added in Rocky. “Could have used more explosions, too. We need a dragon in a fortress.”

Grim grunted and knocked his shoulder into Rocky’s side.

The conversation took off again, taking the pressure off of Bull to do any talking. But that didn’t take Krem’s suspicious look away from him. That was one person on his crew he couldn’t hide from, and sometimes he despised the kid for it. However, he’d take the distraction while he could. The others talked, and Bull excused himself for a piss.

The cackling and joking were enough of a cover that The Iron Bull slipped into his tent afterwards and sat on his cot. He slowly maneuvered the brace from his ankle and groaned as he gave his ankle a twirl. It was slightly swollen tonight; too long on it in one day. His wrapped his fingers around it, minus the couple tips there were missing from his left hand, and massaged the aching joint. 

“Stitches thought you might need this,” said a silken voice from the tent front.

The Iron Bull looked up, surprised and angry at himself for not having heard someone approaching. Dorian was leaning in the front opening of the tent as he held out a jar of salve. Bull knew the salve well, and it was really great for relieving the ache in his ankle. He just hadn’t wanted Dorian anywhere near for a while.

“Right. Thanks. You can just leave it there,” Bull said and pointed at the pile of clothes he had near the end of his bed.

Dorian set it down carefully and turned away. He didn’t make it out of the door, though. “I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?”

It should have sounded more like a question, The Iron Bull thought. He looked up at the man and found him hovering, uncertain, at the tent flap. Not quite outside, but not completely in either.

“I’m qunari. I’ve never been comfortable with magic. But it’s not you, Dorian.”

The man scoffed. “Sure. But I think it might be. You do not look at Dalish with the same terrified awe that you look at me.”

How the fuck was he was supposed to answer that one? “I’m more uncomfortable with magic I haven’t encountered up close before. Dalish flings fire around; she doesn’t mess with minds and dead shit.” He took a breath. “It’s just the magic, Dorian. I promise.”

For a moment it seemed that Dorian wasn’t going to leave. But then, the intense spell of their shared gaze broke when the man nodded and ducked back out without another word. That could have gone better. But, he supposed, it could also have gone much worse.

The Iron Bull rubbed the salve on his ankle and fell back on the bed, staring up at the tented ceiling. There was something about Dorian he couldn’t shake, and for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing yet. Only time would tell, he supposed.

 


	4. What Gifts We Bring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New jobs, new fights, new gifts, fun conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a hot minute. Sorry to those following along, but I did finish my thesis and got my masters, so I should have more time to write now! No promises, though, because I'm slow and suck at updates. However, this will not be abandoned.

It had been too long without a job. The Iron Bull sat outside of a town, waiting for Krem to come back with some good news. It was easier to let the young man go into a town on his own, chat up some people with that charming naivety, and come back with a job for everyone. Meanwhile, Bull kept the rest of his crew occupied at the camp they’d set up. He was hoping they’d get a job that was nearby, something with easy money. They needed something easy every once in a while, and even The Iron Bull was feeling the need for that.

He was also still puzzling over some new revelation he’d made regarding his newest crew member. Dorian had been getting gifts for people on his crew. Slowly, he was connecting with the others, and The Iron Bull was watching how it all happened. It wasn’t accurate to say he was still suspicious of Dorian, necessarily, but there was still a reserve regarding the magic. Necromantic magic wasn’t something he was familiar with, and it worried him if he were to be honest. 

“Hey, Chief,” said Dalish. 

She had nothing but praise for the Tevinter mage, but she was a mage herself so that made sense. Damn him for that thought. He shouldn’t be letting himself get so distracted by his fears. The Iron Bull reviled the idea of being controlled by his fear.

“What’s up, Dalish?” The Iron Bull leaned back against the tree he was sat under and looked at her as she paced in front of him.

“Got a lot of mages now, ya know.” She wasn’t looking at him, but he hand wrapped around the staff, fingers flexing and circling the wood. 

The Iron Bull nodded. “Mhm.”

She lifted a foot and rubbed it along her opposite leg. “Think we’re going to draw attention we shouldn’t be?”

“We always draw attention we shouldn’t be,” Bull laughed.

“True enough,” Dalish conceded. “But you seem more apprehensive the usual. Just wondering if you think something’s up.”

He wasn’t used to the Chargers questioning him. Usually Bull was the one ferreting information and feelings from the others. He could turn Grim’s face to a smile with a few words, make Skinner spew profanities about her feelings with a look, or have Krem sitting at his feet with a bottle of alcohol spilling his stories as much as his drink within the hour. Having that concern turned on him was an uncomfortable thing, and The Iron Bull fidgeted.

“Krem put you up to this?”

“What?” Her voice rose in pitch, and she sounded like she did when she denied being a mage. “‘Course not. We’re all concerned.” Still, Dalish wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Well, you can tell everyone I’m fine. No more worried than any other day.”

Dalish twisted the staff around again. “Sure, chief.” She hesitated a moment, rocking from foot to foot, then stepped away with a nod. They knew when they wouldn’t get any more answers from him. 

He watched her go and found he now worried about them worrying. It had been far too long since he’d been this messed up in questions. The Iron Bull didn’t like that. 

“Would it be possible for me to stop into town before we get ourselves into another blood flinging mess?” 

The voice interrupted The Iron Bull’s thoughts so suddenly he nearly jumped. He should not be allowing himself to get caught off guard  like that. “What?” He looked up to see Dorian standing just a few yards off, white and gold robes flowing around him as a light breeze passed through camp. 

“I would like to go into town briefly. You know, before the fun killing starts up again.”

“For what?” The Iron Bull wasn’t sure he’d meant to sound so stern, but there it was.

Dorian’s face creased into a frown, his mustache twitching  with his lips. “I need to pick something up for Rocky.”

Another gift? The Iron Bull wondered what he would bring back this time, and that alone made him feel inclined to let Dorian take off. “Alright. Try not to get into a fight without us.”

“Same to you. You know I adore watching you kill things,” Dorian grinned and winked.

Usually, The Iron Bull’s heart stuttered as it just did when he was about to fight a dragon or cliff dive to a ship or scale a castle and take out some royal guards. He’d never felt his heart skip like that for something as mundane as a flirt. 

“Yeah,” he muttered to Dorian’s retreating back.

 

Krem returned with good news. He had in his hand two leaflets for jobs. One was a pack of wolves terrorizing a nearby farm. Small pay, but also something easy. The other was for a band of well-armored bandits working a road into a busy city. They were far enough that the city guard weren’t doing anything about it, but the traders that frequented the area compiled a hefty sum for anyone who  _ could _ deal with the bastards. Worth the time, and it was still something small. Easy victories to help raise the spirits. 

“Well, once Dorian returns, we’ll start with the wolves. I think we’re close enough to get there before dark,” The Iron Bull said to his crew.

“We could just leave him,” Krem muttered.

Rocky smacked his hip. “We ain’t leavin’ the boy. You just gotta talk to ‘im more and you’ll see.”

Stitches laughed. “You just want whatever he went into town for.”

“Yeah, I do want that, but he’s also a good guy,” Rocky protested.

The fact that they weren’t naming the item Dorian was getting bothered The Iron Bull. He looked at Rocky and frowned. “What  _ is  _ he bringing you?”

“Just somethin’ to help with my next step ‘o makin’ Blackpowder.”

Well, he wasn’t anywhere close, so there couldn’t be much harm in it. “Right. Good luck with that.”

“I’m getting close!”

“No. You’re not.”

“Well, I’m getting something.”

Krem snorted and smacked Rocky’s shoulder; a little friendly payback. “You better not blow us all up.”

Rocky managed to look truly offended and even crossed his arms over his chest. “My craft’s too precise fer somethin’ bad like that ta happen.” He stomped off a ways.

The Iron Bull shook his head, but found himself calming with their antics. It felt normal again. He watched them pack their things up, and started working on his own. Dorian came back in the midst of everything and joined the cleanup. He’s brought Rocky something in a small cask, and the dwarf dirtied the ‘Vint’s robes in a hug. Dorian looked preciously upset and brushed off what he could.

“Chargers!” The Iron Bull grabbed everyone’s attention once more. “Horns up!” They fell in line with him and of they went to their next adventure.

 

The howl that went through the glade was not natural. Something was wrong with these wolves, and The Iron Bull thought he just might have to demand more coin at the end of this. A light poured from the inside of a cavern, sickly green with bursts of white and the Chargers hesitated outside of it. There was a stench from inside that slipped out while they stood there; it reeked of death.

The Iron Bull hefted his axe on his shoulder, his grip tight on the handle as he peered in with his one eye. There wasn’t much to make out from here as the cavern curved down and around, but there was something definitely in there. As much as he questioned what their newest member could do, he was a death mage, and this place felt like death. 

“Dorian?” He asked without turning around.

The man appeared next to him in a flourish of robes. “Yes?”

“What’s down there, you think?”

Dorian’s nose twitched with the inhale and he shook his head. “Something necrotic. That light isn’t from a natural source. I’d say you wolves are under some mage’s necromancy spell.”

“So this isn’t the nice simple job we hoped for.” 

“No,” Dorian said in confirmation of all their suspicions. “Let me go in first, see if I can pull the spell casting down.”

The Iron Bull knew what his men were capable of, and he often let them take the lead during times when it was the most beneficial, but he didn’t know Dorian long enough. He didn’t want to risk the man getting hurt with this strange magic.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” asked Dalish from somewhere behind them.

Dorian looked back at her. “Absolutely. And if I scream, well, you all will come running in to save me.”

“Yeah right. I’ll probably run the other direction,” laughed Stitches.

“Good. Stay safe so you can patch us up later.” Skinner took a few steps forward. “If no one else is going in, I’ll go in.”

The Iron Bull held out his arm. She was too brash and would definitely get herself hurt. “No, let Dorian check it out first.” He nodded to the man and peered in again, still hoping to catch some glimpse or clue of what lay inside waiting for them. 

“Right,” Dorian hummed. A pale white glow swept over Dorian; a shielding, probably. He turned to look at them, smiled, and took a few backwards steps into the cavern. “Here’s hoping I live to see all your beautiful faces again. Not as beautiful as mine, of course, but-”

“Just go!” Dalish urged with a chuckle.

He gave them a wave and disappeared from The Iron Bull’s sight. The silence that followed was nerve-wracking. They all stood quietly, straining to hear something, anything. Then, a burst of purple light lit up from around the corner followed by a grunt exertion. Tevene started to tumble from the tunnel, punctuated by more bursts of purple light. Then there was a flurry of sounds and lights, a bark of a yell, and Dorian was crying out, “Yeah, well bite on this you fucking tree demon!”

That was all the urging The Iron Bull needed. He charged in with a warcry, his men right behind him. Rounding the corner, the cavern lit up impossibly and it was like midday in the middle of what should have been complete darkness. Purple light poured from Dorian’s staff, digging itself into the dirt beneath a hulking Terror demon. Its long branch-like arms stretched out as it tried to lift itself from the muck about its legs. Looking more closely, from the mud The Iron Bull could see boney hands shaded in purple light. 

He bulked until the Terror gave out a piercing screech that shook the ground around them and spun their thoughts around. It started to arch backwards, green light pooling around its chest as it built a sickly, unnatural power to release if they didn’t stop it.

With another cry, The Iron Bull swung his axe off his shoulder and vaulted toward the creature. He was careful not to step into the muck about its feet, and he swung the axe around in a large, circular arch trying to cut the wooden Terror in half. He felt the axe stick, and the Terror hauled itself back upright. It wrapped its viney fingers around the weapon lodged in its middle and pulled The Iron Bull closer. Closer to the hands and the sickly magic. Closer to the necromancy that held it.

A releasing cry sounded through the cavern, and suddenly the purple magic dissipated, the hands sinking back beneath the ground before The Iron Bull got to them. He breathed a sigh of relief, then jerked his weapon free, swinging once more at the breaking beast. The howl of wolves sounded; Bull knew his crew would handle the four legged beasts.

As the Terror lilted, swinging out with a swipe of long hands toward Bull, someone appeared next to him and the Terror was set on fire. At first, The Iron Bull assumed Rocky, but the flames had happened too quickly, plus, there wasn’t a big bang. No, it was Dorian, sweeping that carved black staff around like he was some god. He looked good doing it, that was for sure. The fire felt more natural, something that didn’t need to be feared as much as the confusing purple magic. The Iron Bull fell in calmly with him now, and the two worked together to bring down the Terror. 

When they pulled back, the others fell in around them, and they stood panting. It had been a good kill, and they’d done well together.   
“That was more than some pesky wolves,” Dorian said licking his lips.”You’d better have me along to negotiate a better payment.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back to a perfect coif before flapping out his robes and brushing off his leather pants. 

The Iron Bull had never seen someone walk away from a fight so clean. “You think you could get us more? I’ve been a merc for a while, dealing with these people.”

Dorian snorted. “And I grew up with the jackals clinging to their coins. I know how to talk a man out of his gold in a matter of moments.”

“Yeah? Anything else you can talk them out of?”

“Many things. Shirts, pants, baths…” Dorian tapped his staff on the ground and a light glowed at its tip.

The Iron Bull had barely noticed the darkness that was settling in now that the demon was perished. He watched Dorian strut away, heading back for the entrance of the cave.

 

He had to hand it to Dorian. The man did know his way around the nobles. Currently, The Iron Bull stood with the Tevinter in some couple’s fancy parlour. He was holding a ridiculously small tea cup and plate, perched on the edge of something Dorian called a sete. It all felt stupid to him, but Dorian was taking the lead and doing damned well. 

The woman of the house was practically vibrating as Dorian retold the tale of their defeat of the demon and the wolves. The way he told it was awful, but the woman didn’t seem to think so. Bull didn’t think there was nearly enough blood in the story.

“The screech those creatures make,” Dorian said dropping his voice with a shiver of his body. “It feels as though it will drag your soul right into the Fade.”

“Oh my,” the woman hummed and sipped her tea. “That’s far too much excitement for me. I can’t thank you enough for handling it so bravely.”

“Of course. We couldn’t leave such evil right at your beautiful doorstep.” Dorian grinned like he was alone with the woman, until her husband coughed.

If money wasn’t on the line, The Iron Bull would have laughed at the easy shift the mage gave his attentions. Bull watched him turn toward the neglected man, purse his lips in a tsk the accented his mustache, and cooed at the man. 

“I’m sure my lord would have loved to join the battle, had such a strapping man known what true darkness pressed in on his lands.” Dorian reached across the space and took one of the man’s hands into his own. He flipped it over and dragged his fingers over the man’s palm. “Such strong, capable hands would have been a great help in the fight. I could have avoided some bruises with you at my side.”

The man blushed, and The Iron Bull marveled at Dorian’s talented tongue. He certainly knew how to play at these people’s vanity- something Bull could do but abhorred.

“I assure you, fine sir, I would have helped had I known. How can we thank you properly?”

There.

Dorian leaned back and splayed his arms across the back of the couch. “We lost a lot of supplies to the beast, good weapons, and a dear friend,” he hung his head at that. Lifting it again with a new smile, “The money you offered seems a bit low for such a task, don’t you think? From people of your means it could seem a,” he chuckled, “well, a slight on your part to let us walk away so light pursed.”

And so they left with a lot more than Bull had hoped for.

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

Getting the extra money was a good start, but The Iron Bull and Cremissius were the hardest of the Chargers to get through to. They didn’t trust easily, which was good for their line of work, but it was bad for Dorian if he wanted to stick around with them.

And he found that he did. He liked the Chargers; he had made very good friends with Dalish, and he was making good with the others, too. He still missed Felix, of course, and planned to return eventually, but before he could do that, he needed to find a way to contact the man and make sure things were safe once more. That wouldn’t be easy, and Dorian didn’t fancy being on his own while he found a way to make that contact happen. 

Plus, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind floated the idea that he wouldn’t be able to return home. If things didn’t calm down, if what his father planned was something he wouldn’t let go, how could Dorian make it home and find the life that he was looking for? He knew his parents’ ideas for his life, for the wife that he should marry and breed with, for the yearnings to see their son as Archon one day. What Tevinter family didn’t want that? Dorian didn’t. He wanted to make change in the world; he wanted to make Tevinter better, and he couldn’t do that from his parents’ house.

He also couldn’t do that from here.

The camp they found themselves in was in something like a swamp. It was cold, wet, and everything that Dorian hated. They traveled all over, and he knew The Iron Bull had some end goal, but he didn’t like that all of it had to be so cold. He wasn’t used to the weather down here, not after the heat and humidity of Tevinter.

“Dorian, why don’t you come out here with us?” Dalish had stuck her head into his tent, trying to coax him out into the damp of the camp area.

He shook his head. “Too wet. I’ll stay right here in my bunk tonight, thank you.”

She made a face and he made one back before she ducked away.

Dorian went to the tent flap and looked out at those around the fire. The Iron Bull and Cremissius were retelling some tale with wild theatrics while the others watched and interjected, occasionally throwing things when something was told “wrong.” Yes, these were the friends that Dorian wanted to keep for a while, and so he had some work to do.

Shutting the tent flap and casting a bit of magic that would make it hard to open, Dorian went to his bags and shifted things around, digging for something at the bottom. Stitches had helped him find this piece at the last town they’d stopped in. It had been altered by a talented blacksmith, and now it was Dorian’s turn for additions. The dawnstone ankle brace was perfectly carved to fit Bull’s ankle, but all the ones he got were. The problem was flexibility, among other things. Dorian had some thoughts; he’d seen armor changed with magic, made better. That was what he’d been working on the last few days for Bull.

He wanted to get this brace to the point of sturdy yet flexible so that when the qunari decided to charge into danger, it wasn’t on a stiff leg but a well supported one that would turn and dodge on command. Dorian had watched too many close calls, and the man refused to let his mages shield him with anything. So far, Dorian had been able to resist the urge to throw up magic around him, but as his worry grew, so did the urge to help. 

This would be something, at least. He set it on the bed and pulled off his robes so that was down to a pair of flowing pants and a tight, sleeveless undershirt that allowed him easy movement. Crawling up on the bed, he sat cross-legged before the brace and flexed his hands over top of it. A white magic trickled out and around the brace, washing over the curves of the brace and seeping into the cracks. After a few moments, he lifted the brace and tried to bend it. 

Nothing. Still stiff as dawnstone usually was. He sighed and dropped it back down, trying again. Maybe it just needed more time to be affected. Dawnstone was a strong enough metal to be used for armor after all. 

A few fails later, Dorian wasn’t ready to give up so much as he just needed a breath of fresh air. He stuffed the brace back into his bag and stepped out into the cold. He’d forgotten his robe, but that didn’t much matter. Maybe the cold would jolt some helpful thought from his foggy brain. He was smarter than this; something like a pesky metal shouldn’t stop him. He’d been playing with time magic and necromancy, after all.

The others were still gathered around the camp, sparring, eating, or telling stories. He skirted around them, wanting to take a walk not sit stagnant and unthinking. The woods were sparse here, being mostly skinny saplings that could live in the overly watered land. Dorian stuck to the rocky parts of the pathways, not wanting to fall into some mud pit or standing water. He already had a hard time keeping up his beauty regimine on the road. The last thing he needed was a swamp bath. That could be grounds for death- either on his part or on the part of whoever saw him soaked in that gunk.

So, he stuck to the noisy rock pathways and heard when someone came jogging up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting Dalish. He should have known better from the footfalls, but he just didn’t expect The Iron Bull to be running up to him.

“Something wrong?” Dorian asked craning his head to look back toward the camp.

“Nah, just wanted a walk myself. Saw you headed out alone and thought I’d join.”

Dorian chuckled, wrapping a hand around one of his bare arms. “What, worried I might run off without you all?”

The Iron Bull laughed back at this but shook his head. “Not really. You’d ditch us in some big, fancy city after some handsome man sweeps you off your feet.”

Crinkling his face, Dorian wondered at that open accusation. Something like that would not be joked about in Tevinter. That would be an insult. His mouth twitched, and he wanted to respond, but didn’t know how. Was it meant as an insult? It hadn’t sounded like one.

Apparently, his face was enough of a statement. “Oh, hey there big guy. I didn’t mean anything by that. I don’t think you’ll actually run off.”

“It’s-” Dorian shook his head. “That’s not the part I’m concerned with.”

“The guy thing? Aren’t you into men?”

He moved his hand from his arm to the back of his neck, rubbing there and sinking his fingers into his hair. He gripped the short hairs back there, grounding himself. “Well. I suppose so.”

“Then what’s the problem?” The Iron Bull actually seemed confused. 

He couldn’t be, though, could he? The qunari could read a man a mile off, knew about so many cultures, Dorian wasn’t sure he hadn’t grown up a historian. It just didn’t make sense to Dorian that Bull didn’t see how uncomfortable the idea of homosexuality made Tevinters. It wasn’t in the plans, couldn’t be what with their breeding importance.

“Does it seem like any of us give a shit about who people fuck?”

“No, but you’re not the ones I’m worried about.”

“There isn’t anyone else out here, Dor.”

Dorian cast him a look, pursed his lips and then let out the tension in a breath. “I suppose you’re right. Yes, I am into men. But that isn’t a good thing where I am from. It was rather frowned upon, much like my choices in magic.”

“That why you ran?”

“Partly. It was more complicated than that.” So complicated, Dorian wasn’t sure on all of the details. Felix had given him so few. He shook his head, trying to push aside any questions toward Felix that his mind tried to poison him with.  “There was some plan. I don’t know what exactly, but my father wasn’t going to let me live the life I wanted. Even if it meant I wouldn’t make it out of the one he pushed me into.”

“Understandable.” The Iron Bull lifted a hanging branch that fell across their path and let Dorian step beneath it first. “So tell me. What’s  _ your _ plan, then? Do you want to go back eventually?”

“I-” Dorian wasn’t ready to talk about the thoughts he’d just posed to himself. But maybe speaking them aloud would lead him to some real answer. Maybe speaking to The Iron Bull would get him somewhere he couldn’t seem to get on his own. “I want answers. I left behind someone very important to me, and I need to know what he knows. Felix got me out, but he didn’t give me very much to go on. All I know is that I needed to leave, and he helped me. If I could find some way to contact him again, so that he knows but anyone who might also see the letter or hear the person I send, they couldn’t know.”

“Got an idea for that?”

“Not a clue, honestly. I’ve been rather preoccupied with another project and haven’t put enough thought into that one.” Dorian chuckled and spread his arms out in a quick gesture. “I’m open to any thoughts you might have.”

The Iron Bull brought a hand up to his chin, scratching at the short, dark hair that dusted along his jawline. “I’m sure the crew could help think of something. We’re pretty good at all sorts of sneaky things.”

“I’ve noticed. Though you could all use some work on manners. And fashion.” He looked pointedly at Bull’s pants. “Those are atrocious, you know. I think you should let me dress you.”

With wagging eyebrows and a leering grin, “How about undressing?”

“In your wildest dreams, The Iron Bull.”

“My wildest, huh? That would be some really good sex, then.”

Dorian was sure that he was blushing. He wished he knew how to stop, but the qunari set off a set of really vivid thoughts in his mind that he couldn’t get out. With the way Bull was looking at him, it was like he could see right into Dorian’s mind and all those thoughts he was having about the larger male. He cleared his throat and pressed on at a faster pace.

“Ever sneak messages in through Tevinter?” Dorian asked.

“Sure, a few. Mostly government based stuff, but same techniques apply.”

“Right. I would appreciate the help.”

The Iron Bull pulled them up short, putting a hand to Dorian’s chest to stop him from walking. “One question, though.”

“What’s that?”  
“Who is Felix?”

Dorian didn’t know what the motivation was, but he could play at the sexual flirtation as he was already flustered enough to toss it in the wind. “Why, jealous?” He preened the best he could in the wet of the swamps, trying to flash a bit of his white teeth.

The Iron Bull snorted and shifted his weight from his bad leg. “Just wondering how hard it’s going to be to get word through.”

It made sense, but something in the man’s tone didn’t fit. Dorian let it go for now. He was actually getting closer to contacting Felix again, and he would not jeopardize that for a joke.


	5. A Bird and a Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bonding, a letter, another gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still horrible at updates. Thanks to anyone still hanging in there and reading :)

The Iron Bull thought the flirting would help. Dorian played at it pretty naturally that it seemed a good option, one that would ease the tension The Iron Bull felt about Dorian. It didn’t help, necessarily, but rather brought more questions to the man. On a basic level, he could admit to himself that he was attracted to Dorian. One only needed to watch the tightly built man flourish about to see he was something special. However, The Iron Bull wasn’t sure how to manage his fear of the magic. It wasn’t fair to Dorian who had never hurt any of them, but the fear was something bred into The Iron Bull.

As they walked along, talking about helping Dorian out, Bull watched him. He watched his face as it moved through emotions. He watched the movement of his arms, hands fluttering with his words. He watched Dorian’s back stiffen when he touched on something uncomfortable. The Iron Bull sensed nothing malicious about him, and it had been nearly eight weeks now. If the man hadn’t turned on them yet, it wasn’t likely that he would. Not with his personality.

“Grim can get your message to Felix. Just need a bit more information and I’ll send him off.” 

They came to a stop a ways out from the camp, Dorian’s staff lighting the path before them. Off to the right was a large pond of murky, green water. To the left was soggy field littered with contradicting bright flowers. Dorian had his hands twining around the staff, looking up at Bull with a questioning face.

“Grim is taking a message?”

The Iron Bull laughed. “A written one, sure.”

Dorian shook his head. “Sometimes, you all are simply too much for me.” He took a deep breath and leaned on the staff, face pressed against it as he kept watching The Iron Bull. “You still don’t like me, do you?”

The Iron Bull felt his back tense and he folded his massive arms over his chest. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“I know,” Dorian interrupted. “It’s just the magic. Still.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Still what?”

The smile Dorian gave didn’t reach his eyes. “You flirt and you’re protective, but it isn’t the same as with the others. Sure, you’ve known them longer, but I can’t seem to break through your guards. Or Cremisius’s for that matter.”

“Krem is always the hardest.” The Iron Bull snorted the lie. So Dorian was more observant than he first thought. As young and naive as he came off, he knew a bit about people. “And I like you just fine.”

Dorian shook his head, sighed again, and started back toward camp. “So, Grim will get a message to Felix. What do you need to know?”

“Where’s he live? What’s the security like? If caught, what happens to Grim? What’s the city like, the house like, the staff?”

By the time they were back at the camp, The Iron Bull had everything he needed to get a message to Dorian’s friend. Now, he just needed to write the letter.

~ ~

Dorian paced back and forth along the dirt road. He was supposed to be the bait in this particular new job, but his mind was on the letter. Grim had been gone five days now, and the Chargers were confined to Ansburg, Free Marches while they waited for him to return. It was a big enough city that they were both keeping busy with jobs and not drawing any more attention than anyone else, but it was still not a pleasant place for Dorian. 

He could dance around nobels all day, but this backwater, dark alley type business was not his forte. Still, he reminded himself that they were stuck in Ansburg for him. As much as he didn’t like staying so close to Tevinter for so long, Grim was doing something for him. All of the Chargers were here for him. It was enough to make a guy feel a bit sappy.

Another time though. Now, he needed to play the lost Magister, ripe for the robbing. Apparently, there were a few bounties out for any thieving groups brought down. Alongside the river ran a road right into Ansburg, and it was often patrolled by bands of thieves and cutthroats looking for some under protected merchant or lone wanderer to pass through and take advantage of. That was Dorian’s part. He walked down the road, keeping an eye out for anyone approaching, knowing that the Chargers were spread out in the woods next to the road and ready to spring into action. Even if they took a moment, Dorian was confident enough in himself to not be afraid of an attack. He wasn’t some damsel in distress, thank you very much; he could take care of himself.

Ahead, dust rose from the roadway announcing incoming riders. Dorian twitched his lips thoughtfully, curled his mustache, and strolled forward as though he were just walking leisurely to Ansburg. He tried to push his cloying insecurities aside and play the part of the ‘holier than thou’ Magister, showy enough to grab the attention of unwitting thieves. It was an easy and familiar part to play, backwater or no.

When the men came upon him, the leader pulled his dapple horse forward into Dorian’s space. “Hello there, pretty little Magister,” he drawled in that slow paced Free Marches accent. “Got a bit lost, huh?”

Dorian sneered back, lifting his head high. “Not at all. Move that  _ beast _ out of my way, and we won’t have any trouble. In fact, for your rudeness, I think I’ll  _ relieve _ you of the beast.” He held out a hand waiting for the reins. 

Pulling his head back with an open mouth, the man stared at him, incredulous. “Are you for real?”

“Quite.” He wagged his fingers impatiently. The air he put on reminded Dorian of his mother, and that almost bothered him. He didn’t realize how much like her he could sound. He didn’t spare a glance at the others behind the leader, but instead levelled a look at the man he spoke to. “Well?”

The man scoffed. “We were just going to take your money, but now I think we’ll slit your throat, too.” 

Dorian grinned. “Oh, good. The hard way then.” He planted his staff in front of him and wrapped both hands around it, a purple glow building around him, curling wisps about him like snakes. “Let’s play, then, shall we?” He was, perhaps, going a bit off script. But he’d been bored for so long. He needed to exercise the magic again.

The horse the man was on pranced uncomfortably in the space he had between the growing magic and the men behind them, and the thief on his back gripped at the reins with nervous, white-knuckled fingers. Still, he managed to bark out orders.

“Take the mage down!” 

In a moment, a burst of movement fell over the group. Dorian threw the magic he’d gathered out at the group, watching the snaking tendrils of purple wrap themselves around the faces and bodies of those surging forward. The men’s horses panicked as they were pushed forward, bucking and fighting the commands of the riders. 

Gathering another breath, Dorian felt an electricity sizzling around him, and he angled his staff forward, sending out a blast of lightning that scorched the earth in the middle of the group and sent shocking waves through the thieves. Their horses tossed them or ran with rider still gripping. 

Then, the Chargers poured from their places in the woods and overtook the group. THe fight in the thieves was little, and soon the Chargers had them bound, their horses retrieved, and Dorian felt cheated of magic use. It could have taken longer. He could have had more fun. He really needed to find an outlet for the pent up magic, one that didn’t involve group activities or quickly wrested fights. 

The Iron Bull stood next to him as things were tied off. “That wasn’t exactly what we rehearsed, Dor.”

“Mm, I felt a bit theatrical. I hope you can forgive my playfulness.”

Though he raised an eyebrow at the mage’s words, The Iron Bull offered a nod. “Yeah, well, it ended fine, I guess. We’ll get some money bringing this group in.” 

“Going to the Templars with them?”

The Iron Bull nodded. 

“Think I’ll sit that one out, then. Perhaps Dalish and I can find something to do while you all handle that.”

“Good idea.” 

Dorian watched The Iron Bull walk away and had a sinking feeling, like the air running out when he needed an extra breath. He wasn’t sure what he expected from that encounter, but it felt lacking. What more was there for either of them to say? Bull had dropped the issue about Dorian not following orders, and they’d set up their next move. It didn’t need to be anything more.

Sighing at his own unsuredness, Dorian slipped through the gathered horses and sought out Dalish. The decided on a stroll through the town. Ansburg was big enough to have sections of town. The Templars mostly roamed near the gates and in the richer parts, so the two mages stuck to the lower end of the city with the market filled with cheap, colorful trinkets. 

“How’s the brace coming?” Dalish asked as she picked up a gaudy looking bracelet. 

“How’d you know about that?”

“I saw you working on it.” She tried on the bracelet and looked up at him quickly. “Don’t worry. No one but me and Stitches knows. Others wouldn’t say nothing anyway.”

“Hmm,” Dorian hummed twirling the end of his mustache to make sure it was in place. “I just don’t want The Iron Bull to know before it’s done.” He sighed and shook his head. “If it will ever be done.”

“Can’t get it to work?”

Dorian shook his head again. “No. Stiff as metal, still.”

“Maybe we could work on it together.”

That was unexpected. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Dalish had been getting closer with Dorian ever since their sparring began, and he found he very much enjoyed her company. “I would like that. Thank you.” 

Dalish put the bracelet back under the watchful eye of the shopkeeper. 

“Can’t trust those knife-ears,” the shopkeeper muttered to the other customer at the stand, who grunted and eyed Dalish.

Dorian felt anger bubble up. “Pardon me. I think you owe my friend here an apology.”

“The fuck would I owe a knife-ear anything?”

“Her name,” Dorian pitched his voice low and stalked around the stall, hand sliding up his staff and glowing purple. “Is Dalish. And you  _ owe her _ an apology for the filth you let slip from behind your putrid, backwater lips.”

The man was large. He puffed up and the customer next to him stood taller as well. “We ain’t going to let no Magister twat tell us what’s what.”

“Oh,” Dorian let out a low chuckle. “But I very much think you will.”

“And how you gunna make me? Fire off magic in the middle of the city? Templars’d be at yer throat in seconds.” The man sounded like he was trying to believe his own words, and took half a step back when Dorian advanced.

Dorian could feel Dalish stiffening behind him, keeping away from things. He turned and surveyed the small market square with a sweeping arm. “I don’t see any Templars around. Do you?”

“They’ll come if magic is used!” He sounded almost scared now.

“Say, ‘I’m sorry for the filth that I let leave my worthless mouth. And here, have this beautiful bracelet for free’ and there won’t be need for magic.” Still, Dorian let wisps of harmless purple float in the space between them.

The customer tried to swat the wisps away, and Dorian sent a bit of a shock through them as a warning. THe man jumped, and the shopkeeper paled. 

“I-I’m sorry. Here, have the bracelet!” The large man’s hands fumbled with the piece of jewelry as he handed it over to Dalish.

Dorian smiled, sent the wisps in a little circle around the men, and then let them dissipate with a wave of his hand. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, gentlemen. We shall be on our way now, Miss, yes?” He said giving a sweep of a bow toward Dalish who clutched the bracelet with an interesting smile, one that sat between fear and excitement.

When they were a few stalls down, Dalish punched Dorian’s arm. “Ow!” He rubbed at the spot even though it didn’t hurt that much. “What was that for?”

“The hell you tryin’ to do, Magister? Get us killed in a bloody shem town?”

“I’m an altus,” he murmured. Then, Dorian waved his hand and sputtered. “We weren’t going to be killed. It was just fine.” He sniffed in a way that twitched his mustache to show his irritation. “Besides those men needed to learn some manners.”

Dalish shook her head. “I’m used to it, Dor. If we went after every shem who disrespected me ‘cause I’m an elf, we wouldn’t have time for contracts.”

Lips turning down and lines creasing over his forehead, Dorian’s face darkened. “Well, you shouldn’t have to put up with that, and I won’t allow it in my presence.”

The two wandered the stalls in quiet contemplation for a while. Dorian noted that Dalish kept playing with the bracelet on her arm, twisting it to make it sit in different positions. At a food stall, Dorian ordered them some sweets and they wandered out of the market to a small garden area with some benches.

“Thank you,” Dalish said between bites of her sweets.

Dorian assessed her, determining what her thanks was for and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The elf leaned over setting her head on Dorian’s shoulder. “You’re something else, Dorian. I’m glad you’re with us.” She pulled the bracelet off and held it up between them. “Also, I didn’t want this. I think it’s ugly.”

With a deep bellied laugh, Dorian took the bracelet and set it at the end of their bench. “That makes the whole thing even better somehow.”

“You’re just going to leave it there?”

“Sure. Perhaps someone who wants it will find it.”

Dalish shook her head. “Something else.”

↢⧫⥈⧫↣

The Iron Bull received a bird from Grim a day after they handed the bandits in for money. It read:

_ “Made it to Felix safe. Lots going on. Will tell in person. Keep Dorian away from Tevinter. -G.” _

Bull tucked the letter away into a pocket, now more intrigued than ever. Something big was going down if Grim wouldn’t write about it now. That also worried him. Whatever Dorian had escaped from could possibly cause The Chargers more trouble than The Iron Bull anticipated. As much as he wanted to care for the charming, roguish man, he had all of the others to think about, didn’t he? But then, they’d always worked together to get everyone out of trouble.

He scrubbed a large, gray hand over his face and sunk down on the cot in his tent. It was a warmer day than it had been, and the Chargers were out looking for work or for trouble. Bull was in the camp alone supposed to be going over a new contract they might pick up. Unfortunately, he’d been too distracted by Grim’s letter to get any real work with the contract done, and it was a long one. Something upper class and political, dealing with a small coup and a weapons shipment- the perfect thing to check out and write back to the Qun about. Any political play in any land was the sort of thing they tracked and monitored. 

But Dorian was distracting.

So was the rest of the crew, if Bull were being honest with himself. He’d been with them for so long, away from the Qun and his homeland for so long, that he felt rather disconnected from it all. If Dorian stayed away long enough, perhaps he’d begin to feel the same thing for Tevinter. A sort of distant admiration. 

The Iron Bull pulled the letter out again, unfolded it, and read it. Nothing had changed since the last time, but he had to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. There was nothing. It was short and to the point, just the way Grim preferred, and just the reason he’d sent Grim in the first place. But that left a lot of room for Bull’s mind to run wild with. 

Perhaps Dorian’s family was caught in some big conspiracy and the man was actually out here trying to find some political contact or new magic that would allow his family to rise up and take over some top position in Tevinter. Maybe Dorian had gone on some rampage and killed a bunch of important people or family and now they were tracking him down for punishment. Or, maybe, Dorian had been right about his family’s plans to ruin his life but didn’t know the extent of what they were going to do to him. 

A clearing of the throat drew Bull’s attention to the entrance of the tent. It was Dorian, standing half-in, half-out as though all of Bull’s thoughts about him had drawn him here. 

“Hope I’m not intruding, but I have something for you.” One of Dorian’s hands was behind his back, the other holding the tent flap open. “May I come in?”

The Iron Bull sat up and cleared his own throat, not trusting the tight feeling it had. He nodded and waved a hand to the end of the end of the bed that was open. “Yeah,” he managed. “Whatcha got?”

“Well,” Dorian slipped in and crossed the room in a few long strides. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to pull his robes slightly aside so as not to ruffle them up too much. “I’ve seen the trouble your brace can give you. I thought you could use something a bit more malleable so that when you move, it moves with you instead of rooting you awkwardly in place. It’s taken a while to get it right, but I think this will fit.” 

On his extended hand sat a dawnstone brace that held a slightly unnatural glimmer to it. The Iron Bull hesitated. It was definitely magic touched, and that made him nervous. Surely Dorian was smart enough to know that that sort of thing would sit uncomfortably with him? 

“Ah…”

“I know, I know. The magic is minimal and has nothing at  _ all _ to do with the dreadful death magic I possess. I promise it’s completely practical and you won’t ever notice it.” His voice raised a bit and he began to flourish his hands with his words. “The magic is latent, and it will never interfere with anything you do. I swear on my perfectly winning smile,” he said and then grinned widely. 

The Iron Bull had to laugh. The man was simply ridiculous, and somehow that worked in his favor. No matter the questions in The Iron Bull’s mind about the man and his magic, his charming attitude brought Bull back every time. It was something he should probably be concerned with and work on, but that smile, the extended hand just hovering, waiting for Bull to take the gift...well, The Iron Bull couldn’t resist.

He took the brace and was surprised at how light it was.

“This thing is going to break as soon as I put it on.”

Dorian flapped a hand at him. “Nonsense. Try it on.”

So, he did. The brace fit perfectly. When The Iron Bull stood up and walked around, the brace seemed to move with the muscle in his legs. It had the texture of dawnstone, of every other metal brace Bull had ever worn, but it moved like softly worked leather or a sturdy cloth. He had to admit, it felt amazing. Now, he’d just have to see how it faired in a fight. 

“So? How’s it feel?” Dorian was at the edge of his seat, hands clenched in fists atop his knees. He looked worried. No, it wasn’t that exactly. He looked as though he longed for answer he didn’t think he was going to get and was preparing himself for failure.

Bull smiled. “Feels good, Dor. Not sure how well it’ll stand up in a fight because it feels so flimsy, but we’ll see.”

Dorian nodded, a smile still half-sitting on his lips. His eyes narrowed a touch, and then in a moment he was back to the cocky, joking person he pretended to be. “Marvelous. And I assure you, it will hold up just fine. This is some of my finest work, if I do say so myself. And I have accomplished  _ a lot _ of fine work.”

“I can imagine,” Bull hummed. He sat back down next to the mage.

The closeness that he chose meant that the weight pulled Dorian toward him and their shoulders brushed. For all the fabric that hid his body, Dorian was tight with muscle. Bull could feel the tensed muscle as they sat touching for a long, quiet moment. Then, Dorian’s cheeks reddened and the man got up. 

“Well, that was all I wanted. I’ll leave you to your-” he fluttered his arm around the tent to signal whatever work he thought Bull was doing.

“Wait.”

“Hmm?”

Bull pulled the letter from his pocket. “Heard back from Grim.”

The way Dorian’s body leaned forward, the tension in his shoulders, all told The Iron Bull he was anxious to see what was written. “Oh?”

“It’s not a lot. He’s got news for us but can’t write about it.”

“Might I take a look?”

With a nod, Bull held it out between them. He watched Dorian take and read it. The time it took, the pacing the mage was doing, he must have read it a few times before finally looking back up at The Iron Bull. 

“That...doesn’t sound good.”

Bull shook his head. “Nope.”

“I know my father is capable of a lot, but-” Dorian looked over the letter again, then folded it and handed it back. “Well, I suppose there is no point in brooding over it. We’ll have our answers when Grim returns.”

“Mhm.” Well, he had a better attitude about it than Bull did, that was for sure. “We could go find some more trouble to get into while we wait. I’m sure there’s a big ‘ole dragon waitin’ around to be killed.”

Dorian grinned that fake smile he hid behind, “Sounds perfect.”


End file.
